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Carrados maintained an uncompromising silence. Mr. Carlyle blew his nose and contrived to impart a hurt significance into the operation. Then Lieutenant Hollyer continued: "Millicent married Creake after a very short engagement. It was a frightfully subdued wedding more like a funeral to me.
They had heard a trade cart drive up to the gate, a knock at the door, and the heavy-footed woman tramp along the hall. "Excuse me a minute, please," said Mrs. Creake. "Louis," said Carrados, in a sharp whisper, the moment they were alone, "stand against the door." With extreme plausibility Mr.
Then he rose to his feet, nodded, dusted his trousers, and Mr. Carlyle moved to a less equivocal position. "What a beautiful rose-tree grows up your balcony," remarked Carrados, stepping into the room as Mrs. Creake returned. "I suppose you are very fond of gardening?" "I detest it," she replied. "But this Gloire, so carefully trained ?" "Is it?" she replied.
Round the bend an approaching tram clanged its bell noisily, and, quickened by the warning sound, Mr. Creake again appeared, this time with a small portmanteau in his hand. With a backward glance he hurried on towards the next stopping-place, and, boarding the car as it slackened down, he was carried out of their knowledge. "Very convenient of Mr.
Carrados, from one of our men. It was in connection with the foundering of the Ivan Saratov." Carrados wagged his head in good-humoured resignation. "And the owners were sworn to inviolable secrecy!" he exclaimed. "Well, it is inevitable, I suppose. Not another scuttling case, Mr. Hollyer?" "No, mine is quite a private matter," replied the lieutenant. "My sister, Mrs. Creake but Mr.
Creake has to get up on the balcony, you know, and he will probably peep through the window, but he dare come no farther. Then when he begins to throw up stones slip on this dressing-gown of your sister's. I'll tell you what to do after." The next sixty minutes drew out into the longest hour that the lieutenant had ever known.
In his brief life of Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea for that was Ardelia's real name Theophilus Gibber says, "A great number of our authoress' poems still continue unpublished, in the hands of the Rev. Mr. Creake." In 1884 I saw advertised, in an obscure book-list, a folio volume of old manuscript poetry. Something excited my curiosity, and I sent for it.
"I quite admit that Creake would be immensely relieved if such a thing did happen, but the chance is surely an absurdly remote one." "Yet unless we intervene it is precisely what a coroner's jury will decide has happened. Do you know whether your brother-in-law has any practical knowledge of electricity, Mr. Hollyer?" "I cannot say. He was so reserved, and we really knew so little of him "
Creake has everything in his favour, but it is just within possibility that the driver of an inopportune train might notice the appendage. What of that? Why, for more than a week he has seen a derelict kite with its yards of trailing string hanging in the tree. A very calculating mind, Mr. Hollyer. It would be interesting to know what line of action Mr.
"Keep your man on Creake in town and let me have his reports after you have seen them. Lunch with me here now. 'Phone up to your office that you are detained on unpleasant business and then give the deserving Parkinson an afternoon off by looking after me while we take a motor run round Mulling Common. If we have time we might go on to Brighton, feed at the 'Ship, and come back in the cool."
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