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"I think my husband was nailing it up recently." By some strange fatality Carrados's most aimless remarks seemed to involve the absent Mr. Creake. "Do you care to see the garden?" The garden proved to be extensive and neglected. Behind the house was chiefly orchard. In front, some semblance of order had been kept up; here it was lawn and shrubbery, and the drive they had walked along.
"This, Parkinson," he said, when the man appeared, "is a photograph of a Mr. What first name, by the way?" "Austin," put in Hollyer, who was following everything with a boyish mixture of excitement and subdued importance. " of a Mr. Austin Creake. I may require you to recognize him." Parkinson glanced at the print and returned it to his master's hand.
"Some time between eleven o'clock to-night about the hour when your sister goes to bed and one thirty in the morning the time up to which he can rely on the current Creake will throw a stone up at the balcony window. Most of his preparation has long been made; it only remains for him to connect up a short length to the window handle and a longer one at the other end to tap the live wire.
You might have fallen." "I generally manage fairly well," he replied. "But, of course, in a strange house " She put her hand on his arm very lightly. "You must let me guide you, just a little," she said. The house, without being large, was full of passages and inconvenient turnings. Carrados asked an occasional question and found Mrs. Creake quite amiable without effusion. Mr.
"However, the chatty old soul had a simple explanation for everything that Creake did. Creake was mad. He had even seen him flying a kite in his garden where it was found to get wrecked among the trees. A lad of ten would have known better, he declared. And certainly the kite did get wrecked, for I saw it hanging over the road myself.
But an unforeseen and in the circumstances rather horrible interval followed, for Creake, in accordance with some detail of his never-revealed plan, continued to shower missile after missile against the panes until even the unimpressionable Parkinson shivered. "The last act," whispered Carrados, a moment after the throwing had ceased. "He has gone round to the back. Keep as you are.
For example, the companions whom Euphues found in Naples practiced arts 'whereby they might either soake his purse to reape commodotie, or sooth his person to winne credite. Other illustrations are these: I can neither 'remember our miseries without griefe, nor redresse our mishaps without grones. 'If the wasting of our money might not dehort us, yet the wounding of our mindes should deterre us. This next sentence, with its combination of K sounds, clatters like a pair of castanets: 'Though Curio bee as hot as a toast, yet Euphues is as cold as a clocke, though hee bee a cocke of the game, yet Euphues is content to bee craven and crye creake.
If we accept the suggestion of poisoning though we have only a jealous woman's suspicion for it we add to the wish the determination. Well, we will go forward on that. Have you got a photograph of Mr. Creake?" The lieutenant took out his pocket-book. "Mr. Carlyle asked me for one. Here is the best I could get." Carrados rang the bell.
The young man struggled with some hesitation for a moment and then blurted out: "The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I don't understand Millicent. She is not the girl she was. She hates Creake and treats him with a silent contempt that eats into their lives like acid, and yet she is so jealous of him that she will let nothing short of death part them. It is a horrible life they lead.
"May I inquire if it is a recent photograph of the gentleman, sir?" he asked. "About six years ago," said the lieutenant, taking in this new actor in the drama with frank curiosity. "But he is very little changed." "Thank you, sir. I will endeavour to remember Mr. Creake, sir." Lieutenant Hollyer stood up as Parkinson left the room. The interview seemed to be at an end.
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