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Updated: June 7, 2025
You remember, Cleigh, the one that hangs in the Pitti Galleria in Florence Allori's?" Cleigh reached for a piece of bread, which he broke and buttered. Cunningham turned to Jane again. "Will you do me the favour of taking out the hairpins and loosing it?" "No!" said Dennison. "Why not?" said Jane, smiling bravely enough, though there ran over her spine a chill.
"And I resent your inference!" she added with uplifted chin. Dennison whirled her about savagely, stared into her eyes, then walked to the companion, up which he disappeared. This rudeness astonished her profoundly. She appealed silently to the father. "We are riding a volcano," said Cleigh. "I'm not sure but he's setting some trap for you. He may need you as a witness for the defense.
Cleigh had come from New York, thousands of miles, for the express purpose of meeting one of these amazing rogues a rogue who, had he found a rich wallet on the pavements, would have moved heaven and earth to find the owner, but who would have stolen the Pope's throne had it been left about carelessly.
It wasn't due to this high-handed adventure of Cleigh, senior; it was something leaning down darkly from the future that worried her. That hand mirror! "Better not talk any more," she advised. "You'll be getting thirsty." "I'm already that." "You're a brave man, captain," she said, her tone altering from gayety to seriousness. "Don't worry about me.
"You will find a dozen new novels on the shelves, Miss Norman," said Cleigh as he rose. "I'll be on deck. I generally walk two or three miles in the morning. Let us hang together this day to test the scalawag's promise." "Mr. Cleigh, when you spoke of reparation last night, you weren't thinking in monetary terms, were you?" Cleigh's brows lowered a trifle, but it was the effect of puzzlement.
The air and the tone of the man were perfectly respectful. When Cleve, the first officer, appeared his manner was solicitous. "Are you comfortable, sir?" "Would ten thousand dollars interest you?" said Cleigh, directly. "If you mean to come over to your side, no. My life wouldn't be worth a snap of the thumb. You know something about Dick Cunningham. I know him well. The truth is, Mr.
"I say," called the son, "you might drop into the Palace and get my truck, too. I'm particular about my toothbrushes." A pause. "I'd like a drink, too if you've got the time." Cleigh did not answer, but he presently entered Cabin Two, filled a glass with water, raised his son's head to a proper angle, and gave him drink. "Thanks. This business strikes me as the funniest thing I ever heard of!
"Where's the captain?" asked Cunningham, curiously, as he noted the vacant chair at the table that night. "On deck, I suppose." "Isn't he dining to-night?" an accent of suspicion creeping into his voice. "He isn't contemplating making a fool of himself, is he? He'll get hurt if he approaches the wireless." "Togo," broke in Cleigh, "bring the avocats and the pineapple."
The little old lady had something of the attitude of a bird that had been given its liberty suddenly, and having always lived in a cage knew not what to make of all these vast spaces. She was Jane's mother, and sitting in the chair beside her was Anthony Cleigh. "There are said to be only five portable authentic paintings by Leonardo da Vinci," said Cleigh, "and I had one of them, Mother.
"I am willing to pay half as much again." "You leave that to me at the original price. No hold-up. Prices fixed, as the French say. Those beads will be on board here to-morrow. But why the devil do you carry that rug abroad?" "To look at." "Mad as a hatter!" Cunningham picked up his oilskin and sou'wester. "Hang it, Cleigh, I've a notion to have a try at that rug just for the sport of it!"
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