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Two things interested Carrados: the soil at the foot of the balcony, which he declared on examination to be particularly suitable for roses, and the fine chestnut-tree in the corner by the road. As they walked back to the car Mr. Carlyle lamented that they had learned so little of Creake's movements. "Perhaps the telegram will tell us something," suggested Carrados. "Read it, Louis." Mr.

Carlyle and myself know where you are. Keep out of Creake's way. I don't want actually to tie you down to the house, but we may require your services. We will let you know at the first sign of anything doing and if there is nothing to be done we must release you." "I don't mind that. Is there nothing more that I can do now?" "Nothing. In going to Mr.

Listen: 'Immediate prospect for London warm and settled. Further outlook cooler but fine. Well, well; I did get a pound of tomatoes for my fourpence." "You certainly scored there, Louis," admitted Carrados, with humorous appreciation. "I wonder," he added speculatively, "whether it is Creake's peculiar taste usually to spend his week-end holiday in London." "Eh?" exclaimed Mr.

In crossing the hall he stumbled over a mat and almost fell. "Pardon my clumsiness," he said to the lady. "I am, unfortunately, quite blind. But," he added, with a smile, to turn off the mishap, "even a blind man must have a house." The man who had eyes was surprised to see a flood of colour rush into Mrs. Creake's face. "Blind!" she exclaimed, "oh, I beg your pardon. Why did you not tell me?

"Oh, there's one other matter," he remarked. "I am afraid that I did rather an unfortunate thing while I was at Brookbend. It seemed to me that as all Millicent's money would probably pass into Creake's hands sooner or later I might as well have my five hundred pounds, if only to help her with afterwards.

Creake," remarked Carrados, with quiet satisfaction. "We will now get the order and go over the house in his absence. It might be useful to have a look at the wire as well." "It might, Max," acquiesced Mr. Carlyle a little dryly. "But if it is, as it probably is in Creake's pocket, how do you propose to get it?" "By going to the post office, Louis." "Quite so.

Hollyer. Have you any idea whether Mrs. Creake has real ground for it?" "I should have told you that," replied Lieutenant Hollyer. "I happened to strike up with a newspaper man whose office is in the same block as Creake's. When I mentioned the name he grinned. 'Creake, he said, 'oh, he's the man with the romantic typist, isn't he? 'Well, he's my brother-in-law, I replied.

Here and there damage will be done to trees and buildings; here and there a person will probably be struck and killed." "Yes." "It is Mr. Creake's intention that his wife should be among the victims." "I don't exactly follow," said Hollyer, looking from one man to the other.

It has two uses for me, both equally romantic; I occasionally shake a duster from it, and when my husband returns late without his latchkey he wakes me up and I come out here and drop him mine." Further revelation of Mr. Creake's nocturnal habits was cut off, greatly to Mr. Carlyle's annoyance, by a cough of unmistakable significance from the foot of the stairs.