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Updated: May 13, 2025
That it proceeded from a human being was evident enough, and Vickers hastily snatched up the lanthorn and strode in the direction from which it came. And there, seated on the shingle, his whole attitude one of utter dejection and misery, the three castaways found a sharer of their sorrows Peter Chatfield!
Petherton gazed at Addie for a moment as if she were some extraordinary specimen of a new race. Then he took off his glasses, waved them at Sir Cresswell and dropped into a chair with a snort. "I wash my hands of the whole thing!" he exclaimed. "Do what you like all of you. Irregular most irregular!" Vickers gave Addie a sly look. "Don't incriminate yourself, Miss Chatfield," he said.
"It seems to me, Petherton," he said, "that we ought to hear what Miss Chatfield has to say. Evidently she comes to tell us of her own free will something. I should like to know what that something is. I think Mrs. Greyle would like to know, too." "Decidedly!" exclaimed Mrs. Greyle, who was watching the central figure with great curiosity.
He stood, a picture of vexation and indecision, glancing furtively at Chatfield, then at Audrey, and evidently hating to be asked to take a side. "Confound it all, Chatfield!" he suddenly burst out. "Why don't you mind what you're saying? It's all very well, Audrey, but you shouldn't have come along here especially with strangers.
Chatfield, outside, very anxious to have a word with you about this affair," she said. "Would you be for having him in? He's the sort of man," she went on, sinking her tones to a whisper, "who must know everything that's going on, and, of course, having the position he has, he might be useful. Mr. Peter Chatfield, Mr.
There was much scoffing at the latter by those who had yesterday been firm adherents of his views, and there was even a little sneering by men who had never believed the rumor. The tall one fought with a man from Chatfield Corners and beat him severely. The youth felt, however, that his problem was in no wise lifted from him. There was, on the contrary, an irritating prolongation.
As for the rest of him, Mr. Peter Chatfield had a snub nose, a wide slit of a mouth, and a flabby hand; his garments were of a Quaker kind in cut and hue; he wore old-fashioned stand-up collars and a voluminous black stock; in one hand he carried a stout oaken staff, in the other a square-crowned beaver hat; altogether, his mere outward appearance would have gained notice for him anywhere, and Copplestone rejoiced in him as a character.
"And there may be reasons why he doesn't desire your presence in those ancient regions. But we'll go there, all the same, if you don't mind breaking rules and defying Peter." "Not I!" said Copplestone. "Hang Peter!" "There are people who firmly believe that Peter Chatfield should have been hanged long since," she remarked quietly. "I'm one of them. Chatfield is a bad old man thoroughly bad!
Vickers, that Chatfield solemnly insisted to you that he did not know that the man who had posed as Marston Greyle was not Marston Greyle?" "He did," replied Vickers, "and though Chatfield is an unmitigated old scoundrel, I believe him." "You do!" exclaimed Gilling, who was listening eagerly. "Oh, come!"
Copplestone, that night and I got in a supply of meat and drink, and there I was. And as things turned out, Chatfield had got his eye on the very same spot!" Spurge paused for a minute, and picking out a match from a stand which stood on the table, began to trace imaginary lines on the mahogany. "This is how things is there," he said, inviting his companions' attention.
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