United States or South Sudan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
His face, to-night, was chalky and the firm, full mouth twitched with nervousness. He greeted Shirley abstractedly. The criminologist's manner was that of friendly anxiety. "You are here, sir, as a friend of the family?" "Yes. Howard has told me of the terrible mystery of this case. As an ex-newspaper man I imagine that my influence and friendships may keep the unpleasant details from the press."
Warren stood behind him. The surprise of the pair amused Shirley, but their composure bespoke trained self-control. "I'm sorry to be late," was the criminologist's greeting. "But I came up to apologize for not being able to bring Miss Marigold. We missed connections somewhere, and I couldn't find her." "I am so pleased to have you with us anyway.
"Git out dere, no gun play. Up inter dat car!" he added, as they approached the machine. "Say, what you drivin' at?" cried the driver, queruously. "Is this a hold-up?" It was a puzzling moment, but the criminologist's calm bravado saved the situation: as luck would have it no policemen were in sight, to spoil the maneuver. "No," and he assumed a more natural voice and dialect. "I'm a detective.
As one of the richest members of the exclusive bachelor set, Montague Shirley, even unknown to himself, occupied reserved niches in the ambitions of a hundred and one fair plotters! "You will honor us by taking a drink, Miss Pinkie?" was the criminologist's courteous overture. "Pinkie Marlowe, if you want to know the rest of my name.
Here: I tear it up now and give you the pieces to burn!" Warren, maddened by his fears, nervously tore the sheets into bits and pressed the remnants into the criminologist's hands. "Will you promise to keep my identity a secret?" "I will not send word to Budapesth. You have a bad record in Paris, and other parts of the world.
Quest moved slowly down the deck towards Craig's side, and touched him on the arm. "Give me your left wrist, Craig," he said quietly. The man slunk away. There was a sudden look of horror in his white face. He started back but Quest was too quick for him. In a moment there was the click of a handcuff, the mate of which was concealed under the criminologist's cuff.
Shirley had struck the Achilles tendon the hardest wretch in the world had one, as he knew! "Oh oh " he moaned, "the poor little mutter. She has forgiven so much, suffered so much. You can't do it. You won't do it!" He fell to his knees, clawing at the criminologist's garments with his trembling hands, the tears streaming down his face.
"Albanian what do you mean? I never saw Albania!" "You will never see it again. You will never see Budapesth again, either," was the menacing continuation of the criminologist's methodical speech. "But a very old lady, the Countess Laschlas, will see the accounts of her son's wretched death, in the New York papers which will be sent to her, in care of the American consul!"
Through the opening another belching flame shot forth, to be answered by the criminologist's weapon, barking like a miltraileuse. They heard a stifled cry, and as Shirley ran forward, he exclaimed with disappointment. "He's escaped down the fire-escape and through that skylight." He faced about to smile grimly at the curious scene within.
Again the shots rang out, but they were out of range, on the dark waters so quickly, that before the police boat had set out from shore to investigate the firing from the pleasure vessel, the criminologist's struggle with his wounded antagonist was over. Half drowned, himself, with Warren completely past consciousness, Shirley was pulled into his own boat as the engines were slowed down.
Word Of The Day