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Updated: June 9, 2025
Everything was very quiet, everything looked very bright, and everything seemed hopelessly impregnable. "But I wonder?" ran Carrados's dubious reflection as he reached this point. "Sorry to have kept you so long, my dear Max," broke in Mr. Carlyle's crisp voice. He had emerged from his compartment and was crossing the hall, deed-box in hand. "Another minute and I will be with you."
The "evening rush" had not yet commenced and they had no difficulty in finding an empty carriage when the train came in. Parkinson was kept busy that journey describing what he saw at various points between Lambeth Bridge and Knight's Cross. For a quarter of a mile Carrados's demands on the eyes and the memory of his remarkable servant were wide and incessant. Then his questions ceased.
"Give me your opinion of my latest purchase the bronze lion on the cabinet there." Then, as Carlyle's gaze went about the room, he added quickly: "No, not that cabinet the one on your left." Carlyle shot a sharp glance at his host as he got up, but Carrados's expression was merely benignly complacent. Then he strolled across to the figure. "Very nice," he admitted. "Late Flemish, isn't it?"
"But never mind that. What is the trouble?" "I'm afraid it means more than just trouble for me, Mr. Carrados." The man had steady, half-closed eyes, with the suggestion of depth which one notices in the eyes of those whose business it is to look out over great expanses of land or water; they were turned towards Carrados's face with quiet resignation in their frankness now.
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