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Updated: June 8, 2025
There's Betty Bellman for one. She was at a club in Old Compton Street when Mr. Sefton found her out." Aggie had to "work a turn" at each of three clubs that night, and the girls were now at the door of the first of them. It stood at the corner of a reputable square, and was like any ordinary house on the outside.
Compton. "Come back at once. A cheque has been forged in your name for L100. George Weston is the forger. It is a clear and aggravated case. Shall he be arrested? Will you prosecute? Answer at once." In an incredibly short space of time an answer was returned. George was at the Telegraph Office to receive it. "From Mr. Compton to Mr. Sanders. "I will return to-morrow.
The chief shook his head. "This river-man and I go together on the trail." Compton stormed and begged; but the chief remained silent, with his eyes on Mr. Hume. "What's all the fuss about?" put in Venning. "We have come here to explore and hunt, not to crawl for ever up a river. What is to prevent us all from following on the track of the cannibals?"
The little waves churned up by the screw splashed softly upon the roots, making the only sound that disturbed the sombre silence of the place. So low was the leafy roof at places that branches rustled on the awning. "Fix up the big lantern in the bows, old man," said Compton, who was facing up-stream. "There is not light enough to steer by.
I came here with a friend whose lungs are weak." "You expect to return to the East soon?" "Yes, sir." "When you do, come to see me. I am a commission merchant in Boston. If it is your intention to follow a business life, I may be able to find you a place." "Thank you, sir; I should like nothing better." "To-morrow," said Mr. Compton, "I will come here and complete the purchase."
"Assizes" "county" "Sir Harry Compton," I involuntarily murmured, as I finished the perusal of my old friend's incoherent epistle. "What on earth can the eccentric old fox-hunter mean?" "Show the lady in," I added in a louder tone to the clerk. She presently appeared, accompanied by a remarkably handsome boy about six years of age, both attired in deep mourning.
I can't get hold of Mr. Compton. I think you better come down. I'll be in Mr. Compton's office " The message ceased as though central had disconnected them. "Funny," thought Jimmy, "that he should call me up. I wonder what the trouble can be." But he lost no time in getting his hat and starting for the works.
What he does I have not yet found out. He has always shown great respect to me, though why I can not imagine. He has the same timidity of manner which marks Mrs. Compton. His name is Philips. I once asked Mrs. Compton who Philips was, and what he did. She answered quickly that he was a kind of clerk to Mr. Potts, and helped him to keep his accounts. "Has he been with him long?" I continued.
The wealthier lads went to the universities or to the metropolis, where no small proportion, freed from all restraint, went hopelessly to the bad. In Shakespeare's time, the Earl of Leicester, Lord Compton, Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, and a few others, were the chief men in the neighbourhood of Stratford to keep retainers in large numbers.
At first Jimmy thought they were the perpetrators of the deed, but almost immediately he recognized one of them as O'Donnell, the erstwhile traffic officer who had been promoted to a detective sergeancy since Jimmy had first met him. "Compton has been murdered," said Jimmy dully. "He is dead." "Put up your hands," snapped O'Donnell for the second time, "and be quick about it!"
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