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Updated: May 6, 2025
"and help me in a little difficulty. Can you recommend me another? And we also want a girl, to be under the housekeeper, and keep the accounts. Surely you will come to see me, whether you can advise me or not. "Yours very truly, "Mary St. John Deloraine" "Idiot!" murmured Mr. Cranley, as he finished reading this document; and then he added, "By Jove! it's lucky, too.
"Now, I'll give her a quarter of an hour to waken," said Mr. Cranley, and he took from his pocket a fresh copy of the Times. He glanced rather anxiously at the second column of the outer sheet "Still advertising for him," he said to himself; and he then turned to the sporting news.
But crumbs of the poison "Woorali," or "Ourali" perfectly dry, remained in this réceptacle. It was thus clear that Cranley, himself a great traveller, was possessed of the rare and perilous drug. The medical evidence having been heard, and confirmed in its general bearing by various experts, and Barton having stood the test of a severe cross-examination, William Winter was called.
Cranley went on, "I don't know: I dare say it's safe enough. She does know some of those Cockpit fellows; confound her, she knows all sorts of fellows. But none of them are likely to be up so early in the day not up to luncheon anyhow. She says" and he looked again at the note "that she'll be alone; but she won't.
He is a Fellow of his College at Oxford." During this discourse Mr. Cranley was pretending to play with the terrier; but, stoop as he might, his face was livid, and he knew it. "Did I tell you his name?" Mrs. St. John Deloraine ran on. "He is a " Here the door was opened, and the servant announced "Mr. Maitland." When Mrs. St.
I tried to warn you for I did not want a row when I said the case 'seemed to bring you luck. But you would not be warned; and when the cigarette-case trick was played out, you fell back on the old dodge with the drop of water. Will anyone else convince himself that I am right before I let Mr. Cranley go?" One or two men passed the cards, as they had seen the Banker do, over the spilt soda water.
Cranley at the house of the lady of The Bunhouse, Barton, when he came home from a round of professional visits, had found Maitland waiting in his chill, unlighted lodgings. Of late, Maitland had got into the habit of loitering there, discussing and discussing all the mysteries which made him feel that he was indeed "moving about in worlds not realized."
"Good-nights" were uttered in every direction; sticks, hats, and umbrellas were hunted up; and while Maitland, half-asleep, was being whirled to his rooms in Bloomsbury in a hansom, his guests made the frozen pavement of Piccadilly ring beneath their elegant heels. "It is only round the corner," said Cranley to the four or five men who accompanied him.
There must have been some seven hundred pounds. "All right," said Cranley, taking a sip of his soda water. He had dealt two cards, when his hands were suddenly grasped as in two vices, and cramped to the table. Barton had bent over from behind and caught him by the wrists. Cranley made one weak automatic movement to extricate himself; then he sat perfectly still.
"I have business in Paris, and I cannot say how long I may be detained on the Continent." "No more can I," said Mr. Cranley to himself; "but I hope you won't return in time to bother me with your blundering inquiries, if ever you have the luck to return at all." The day before the encounter with Mr.
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