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Updated: May 15, 2025
"I ain't a geologist, but I am a criminologist, and just one more of your monkey tricks like that and I'll put you where you'll have time to study a lot of rocks and do a lot of thinkin' before bein' funny again. Now, you get out! Get into that car as quick as you can, if you know what's good for you!"
The maid-servant stood on one side to let him pass. Almost at the same moment, the door of the front room opened and a pleasant-looking elderly lady appeared. "I am Mrs. Willet," she announced. "I am Mr. Quest," the criminologist told her quickly. "You may have heard your niece, Lenora, speak of me." "Then perhaps you can tell me what has become of her?" Mrs. Willet observed. "Isn't she here?"
But perhaps you would prefer to postpone your final decision until after you have examined the skeleton itself." A light broke in upon the criminologist. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "For the moment, Professor, I couldn't follow you. You are talking about the skeleton of the ape which you brought home from South America, and which you have presented to the museum here?"
Witness according to Crane the demoniac cleverness of the Brazilian in unmasking the Duchemin incognito. Suspicion was taking form in Lanyard's reflections that he had paid far too little attention to Senor Arturo Velasco of Buenos Aires, whose avowed avocation of amateur criminologist might easily be synonymous with interests much less innocuous.
"He'll be next in the net. But say, Mr. Shirley, what percentage do you get for all this work, I'm awondering?" was the answering query. The criminologist laughed. "Thanks, my dear man, simply thanks. That's a rare thing for a well-to-do man to get since the I.W.W. proved to the world that it's a crime for a man to own more than ten dollars, or even to earn it!
The successive steps of his descent from mild resentment to malignant fury, libertinism and crime, and the reaction of his own increasing depravity upon his own mind, are described in a manner which is fairly interesting from a literary point of view, whatever a modern expert criminologist might think of it.
A hundred feet to the West of the Somerset he found the excavations for a new apartment house. No watchman was in sight, in the mist of falling flakes, so the criminologist disappeared over the fence which separated the plot of ground from the sidewalk. Advancing with many a stumble through the blasted rock and shale, he obtained ingress to an alleyway in the rear.
After a couple of hours, which he devote to some personal matters, he received a response to his inquiry. When translated from the Hungarian it read thus: "Professor Montague Shirley, College Club, N.Y., U.S.A. Families extinct except Countess Laschlas, and son Count Rozi Laschlas, reported killed in Albanian revolution. Csherkini, Minister of Justice." The criminologist was happy.
"It's snowing, Reg. The air will do you good. What a gorgeous night for a murder. Tell me now, what was the trouble?" And Shirley swung, and swung and swung! Eternity had passed, the Judgment Day had been overlooked and new aeons had gone their way, it seemed to the criminologist, when the voice was audible again. "Oh, all right. I just drew it down from the top. Tell me about your doping.
He admitted to himself that Holloway's prediction had come true he had met his match. Helene nodded demurely. "Yes, but it was such wonderful 'copy, Monty boy." The criminologist scowled over his cigarette, yet he could not feel as unhappy as he felt this defeat should make him. "When will the 'copy' be ready for publication, my dear girl. It would be most interesting, I fancy."
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