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And, she had even more difficulty in recognizing the fair-haired little boy of that time in the good-looking but rather moody-faced young man who at the present moment was seated near the window, staring out of it. The fifth member of the party was Dr. Ravenshaw, who practised in the churchtown where Mrs. Turold had been buried, and had attended her in her illness.
He got her away from the threshold, and pulled the broken door to, shutting out the spectacle within. "Are you going to leave him there like that?" whispered Mrs. Pendleton. "It is necessary, till the police have seen him," he assured her. "We had better send Thalassa in the car to the churchtown. Go for Sergeant Pengowan, Thalassa, and tell him to come at once.
The claimant for a title had found in the churchtown doctor an antiquarian after his own heart, whose wide knowledge of Cornish antiquities had assisted in the discovery of the last piece of evidence necessary to establish his claim. Dr.
The Milton lads swung on down the road in the direction of Churchtown. It was early evening by now. "Some doings!" commented Chet as he slipped his arm into that of Andy. "I should say!" exclaimed Ben. "Andy, you took the right action that time." "Well, I just couldn't bear to see that chap, with his arm in a sling, being beaten up by that brute of a farmer," was the reply. "It got my dander up."
"You only think that," interrupted her brother. "I feel sure it was he. It was also strange to see him with his hat and coat on when he answered our knock. He told Dr. Ravenshaw that he was going to the churchtown for him." "That reminds me that I haven't yet heard what took you up to Flint House last night, Constance," said her brother, looking at her fixedly.
Robert Turold was generally regarded as very eccentric. When he crossed the moors from the churchtown to Flint House it was his custom to go almost at a run, glancing over his shoulder as he went, as if afraid." "I have heard nothing of this," commented Barrant. "Is the story to be believed, do you think?" "A fisherman of the churchtown told my man in a graphic sort of way.
A lowering sky suggested rain, and he set off at a round pace for the inn where he had left the vehicle which had brought him to the churchtown. But quickly as he walked, a footstep behind him was quicker still, and he turned involuntarily to see who was following. Another surprise was in store for him.
Sitting bolt upright in indignant amazement, she rejected the idea in the sharpest scorn. It was nothing to her that the police sergeant from the churchtown shared her brother's view, and that Dr. Ravenshaw was passively acquiescent. She brushed aside the plausible web of circumstances with the impatient hand of an angry woman.
Can I get a conveyance back to Penzance?" "There is a public wagonette. I am not sure when, it goes, but it starts from 'The Three Jolly Wreckers' at the other end of the churchtown." "'The Three Jolly Wreckers! That's rather a cynical name for a Cornish inn, isn't it?" "Oh, the Cornish people are not ashamed of the old wrecking days, I assure you."
It seemed a long wild journey in the dark, but actually only half an hour passed before the car emerged from the wind and rain of the moors into the dimly-lighted stone street of the churchtown. A few minutes later the car stopped, and the driver informed Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton in a Cornish drawl that they had reached Dr. Ravenshaw's.
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