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Updated: May 21, 2025
This ended the interview. In a few minutes more Sweetwater was off. The hour passed; he did not come back; the day, and still no Sweetwater. Another day went by, enlivened only by an interchange of notes between Mr. Gryce and Miss Butterworth. Hers was read by the old detective with a smile. Perhaps because it was so terse; perhaps because it was so characteristic. Dear Mr.
Tom was everywhere. He was like a general in charge of the defenses of a besieged town. The cooks at all three of the town's hotels were sent back into their kitchens, waiters were found and hurried out to the Butterworth house, and Henry Heller's orchestra was instructed to get out there at once and to start playing the liveliest possible music.
That would worry me, Miss Butterworth, for the house is full now, as you know, of wedding presents, and But I cannot believe such a thing of her. It is some other fault she has, less despicable and degrading." "I do not say she has any faults; I only said I feared. What name does she go by?" "Oliver; Ruth Oliver." Again I thought of the O. R. on the clothes at the laundry.
Seeing nothing, he glanced in astonishment up at the book shelves and then back to the table, shook his head, and suddenly collapsing, sank in a doze on the nearest chair. Miss Butterworth drew a long breath, eyed Mr. Gryce with some curiosity, and then triumphantly exclaimed: "Can you read the meaning of all that? I think I can.
Oh, I am ashamed of it, so ashamed that I have made the greatest endeavor to hide my participation in the matter, and thinking I had succeeded in doing so, was congratulating myself upon my precautions, when I found that parasol thrust in my face and realized that you, if no one else, knew that Amelia Butterworth had been in Mr. Adams's room of death prior to yourself.
The Quartermaster-Sergeant having been wounded, Sergeant Jack has taken his place; Sergeant Butterworth has been wounded; and Sergeant Williams and Sergeant Dawson are on 'battle reserve. There, therefore, remain only three sergeants to four platoons; and all the N.C.O.'s in my platoon are lance-corporals and cannot, therefore, very well be promoted to sergeant at a bound....
Balfour and his protégés in camp, and warm with his memories of Miss Butterworth, simply gloried in his moonlight tramp. The accumulated vitality of his days of idleness was quite enough to make all the fatigues before him light and pleasant. At nine o'clock the next morning he stood by the side of his boat again.
"She does conceal them; I have no more doubt of it than I have of my standing here; but I must know it before I shall feel ready to call the attention of the police to her." "Yes, we should both know it. Poor girl! poor girl! to be suspected of a crime! How great must have been her temptation!" "I can manage this matter, Miss Althorpe, if you will entrust it to me." "How, Miss Butterworth?"
I was prepared for a change in her, and yet the shock I felt when I first saw her face must have been apparent, for she immediately remarked: "You find me quite well, Miss Butterworth. For this I am partially indebted to you. You were very good to nurse me so carefully. Will you be still kinder, and help me in a new matter which I feel quite incompetent to undertake alone?"
"Really charming," added Number Three. "You are quite sure you don't know what you want to marry him for?" said Mrs. Snow, with a roguish twinkle in her eye. "You are quite sure you don't love him?" "Oh, I don't know," said Miss Butterworth. "It's something. I wish you could hear him talk. His grammar would kill you. It would just kill you. You'd never breathe after it.
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