Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 28, 2025
"Yes, Carver, my son that will curl your hair for you. And," he went on, when they had carried their simple provender over to a quiet corner, "about that chap now known as Burchill Burchill. Mr. Frank Burchill; late secretary to the respected gentleman whose mortal remains have just been laid to rest. Ah!" "What's the mystery?" asked Carver, setting down his tankard. "Seems to be one, anyway.
There's a very good portrait of him on those bills that the police have put out and posted so freely, and he must know that every constable and detective in London is on the look-out for him, to say nothing of folk who would be glad of the reward. If that was Burchill and I've no doubt of it, since you're so certain it suggests a good deal to me." "What?" asked Selwood.
But Barthorpe had no time to waste thoughts on Triffitt. He suddenly became alive to the fact that two exceedingly strong men had seized his arms; that two others had similarly seized Burchill. The pallor died out of his face and gave place to a dull glow of anger. "Now, then?" he growled. "What's all this!" "The same for both of you, Mr.
Burchill," he said, "is that your writing?" Burchill, calm and self-possessed, glanced at the place which Mr. Halfpenny indicated, and then lifted his eyes, half sadly, half deprecatingly. "No!" he replied, with a little shake of the head "No, Mr. Halfpenny, it is not!"
Halfpenny nudged Professor Cox-Raythwaite. "I say stop!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "There's some explanation " He was about to lay a hand on the door when Mr. Halfpenny touched a bell which stood in front of him on the table. And at its sharp sound the door opened from without, and Burchill fell back at what he saw fell back upon Barthorpe, who looked past him, and started in his turn.
Burchill shook his head this time with a gesture of something very like contempt. "It is not!" he answered. "Did you see the late Jacob Herapath write that?" "I did not!" "Did you see Mr. Tertius write that?" "I did not!" "Have you ever seen this will, this document, before?" "Never!" Mr.
"I don't suppose you thought of seeing me when you opened your door, Burchill?" he remarked good-humouredly, as he took the match which his host had struck for him. "Last man in the world you thought of seeing, eh?" Burchill calmly lighted a cigarette for himself before he answered. "Well," he said at last, "I don't know you never know who's going to turn up.
"Don't be afraid, my dear," he whispered. "Perhaps," he continued, glancing at Barthorpe, "I had better tell you when and where it was made. About six months ago in this room. One day Mr. Herapath called me in here. He had his then secretary, Mr. Burchill, with him.
Herapath's employ to know how much he went in for that sort of thing." "That is immaterial," continued Burchill. "We establish the fact that he did. Now we come to the first chapter of our story. This lady, Mrs. Engledew, a tenant of this flat since the Herapath Estate was built, is an old acquaintance I am permitted to say, friend of the late Jacob Herapath.
If he was merely acting, thought Barthorpe, he was doing it splendidly, and instead of writing dramatic criticism he ought to put on the sock and buskins himself. But somehow he began to believe that Burchill was not acting. And he was presently sure of it when Burchill laughed contemptuously. "Oh!" said Burchill. "Ah! So Mr. Jacob Herapath employs legal assistance your assistance in answering me?
Word Of The Day
Others Looking