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Updated: May 13, 2025
"And the fourth feature and this explains why I have brought you into the case is that in the car was discovered his bloodstained coat and waistcoat. In the right-hand pocket of the latter garment," said Cresswell, speaking slowly, "was found this." He took from his drawer a small piece of crimson paper two inches square, and handed it without comment to the detective.
"We can do without you for a little while, Beale," he said, lowering his voice. "There's somebody there," he jerked his head to a door which led to another room of his suite, "who requires an explanation, and I think your time will be so fully occupied in the next few days that you had better seize this opportunity whilst you have it." "Miss Cresswell!" said Beale, in despair.
The blow had fallen. She did not wince nor cry out. She took the receipt, calmly, and walked out into the darkness. They had stolen the Silver Fleece. What should she do? She never thought of appeal to courts, for Colonel Cresswell was Justice of the Peace and his son was bailiff. Why had they stolen from her? She knew. She was now penniless, and in a sense helpless.
It's more than he's done for me this three-month. I beg your pardon do sit down I think you'll find this one easier. Our stock of chairs is limited." It was delightful to have a casual meeting receive this social stamp; the girl was all at once transfigured animated, glowing, lovely; all of which did not escape the caller's appraising inspection. "There!" said Mr. Cresswell.
The new-comer was Dr. van Heerden. "What is this I hear?" he demanded fiercely, addressing White. "You dare accuse Miss Cresswell of theft?" "My dear doctor," began White. "It is an outrage," said the doctor. "It is disgraceful, Mr. White. I will vouch for Miss Cresswell with my life." The girl stopped him with a laugh. "Please don't be dramatic, doctor. It's really a stupid mistake.
"Sir Cresswell Oliver said as much to me but no more. Have they said more to you?" "The suspicion seemed to have originated with Petherton. Petherton, in spite of his meek old-fashioned manners, is as sharp an old bird as you'll find in London! He fastened at once on what Bassett Oliver said to that fisherman, Ewbank. A keen nose for a scent, Petherton's!
Sir Cresswell Oliver rose, glanced at Audrey and her mother, received some telepathic communication from them, and assumed his old quarter-deck manner. "Not tonight, I think, Petherton," he said authoritatively. "No certainly not tonight!"
Beale, too, had sniffed the musty odour, and knew that it came from the bag the girl had wrenched from his grasp. It was the sickly scent of the Green Rust! With her elbows resting on the broad window-ledge and her cheeks against the cold steel bars which covered the window, Oliva Cresswell watched the mists slowly dissipate in the gentle warmth of the morning sun.
Grey was a picture of the most emphatic surprise, and Mr. Cresswell moved to the window. Mrs. Grey looked helplessly at her companions. "But I don't understand, Miss Smith why can't you accept my offer?" "Because you ask me to put my school in control of those who do not wish for the best interests of black folk, and in particular I object to Mr.
"It certainly will. There's but one way to break it, and that's to allege misunderstanding on your part." Cresswell winced. It was not pleasant to go into open court and acknowledge himself over-reached by a Negro; but several thousand dollars in cotton and land were at stake. "Go ahead," he concurred. "You can depend on Taylor, of course?" added the lawyer. "Of course," answered Cresswell.
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