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About five o'clock of an evening in April the Cunarder Caronia, four hours out from Queenstown and buckling down to a night's hard work against the northwesterly gale, shipped a sea.
Or, it may have been simply that he was too frightened and rattled to know just what he was writing." "Know anything of him?" "Only what the directory tells, and directories don't deal in really intimate details of biography, you know. There's quite an assortment of William H. Robinsons, but the one who lives at the Caronia appears to be a commission merchant on Pearl Street.
"But will Alden Honeywell, Esquire?" "Surely. Also Mr. William H. Robinson, of the Caronia. At three-thirty the following afternoon three men were waiting in Average Jones' inner office. Average Jones sat at his desk sedulously polishing his left-hand fore-knuckle with the tennis callous of his right palm. Bertram lounged gracefully in the big chair. Mr. Robinson fidgeted.
"Or has some one been rifling his waste-basket?" "That would mean an accomplice in the house, which would be dangerous. I think it was done at longer range. As for the question of our friend's faking in his claim of complete ignorance of all this, I propose to find that out right now." Drawing the telephone to him, he called the Caronia apartments. Thus it was that Mr.
So, when the ex-lunatic returned from Europe a year ago, our friend Honeywell here, in some way located him at the Caronia. He matured his little scheme. Through a letter broker who deals with the rag and refuse collectors, he got all the second-hand mail from the Caronia.
William H. Robinson, The Caronia, Broadway and Evenside Ave., New York City. The advertisement on the reverse of the sheet ran as follows: ANGLERS When you are looking for "Baits That Catch Fish," do you see these spinners in the store where you buy tackle? You will find here twelve baits, every one of which has a record and has literally caught tons of fish. We call them "The 12 Surety Baits."
What aroused my suspicion was the fact that my husband thought that he remembered this young man as a fellow-traveller of ours on the Atlantic, on our return voyage, while he claimed to have landed that morning on the Caronia." "You are certain of that, Mrs. Pett? He stated positively that he had landed this morning?" "Yes. Quite positively.
"To make a statement for publication in to-morrow morning's newspaper," returned Average Jones crisply. "Statement? Is this a yellow journal trap?" "As a courtesy to Mr. Robinson, I'll explain. How long have you lived in the Caronia, Mr. Robinson?" "About eight months." "Then, some three or four months before you moved in, another William H. Robinson lived there for a short time.
"I never expected you would receive me like this. I thought I must have made myself rather unpopular." Mr. Pett buried the past with a gesture. "When did you land?" he asked. "This morning. On the Caronia . . ." "Good passage?" "Excellent." There was a silence. It seemed to Jimmy that Mr.
"Miss Chester was telling me that you had left my step-mother. I suppose you sailed on the boat before mine. I came over on the Caronia. I suppose you didn't expect to see me again so soon, eh?" A spasm seemed to pass over Mr. Crocker's face, leaving it calm and serene. He had been thrown his cue, and like the old actor he was he took it easily and without confusion. He smiled a respectful smile.
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