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Updated: May 3, 2025
Property has some rights, Demarest, although it seems to be getting nowadays so that anybody is likely to deny it." Then the fretful, half-alarmed note sounded in his voice again, as he continued: "I can't understand why the girl wants to see me." The lawyer smiled dryly, since he had his back turned at the moment.
Lawyer Demarest, with a pile of impressive looking documents before him, sat at a large flat-top desk. Melville, senior, and two business friends, sat a little apart, while Don Melville stood behind his father. "I will say, in beginning," commenced George Melville, in his smoothest, blandest tones, "that we have talked so far, you and I, Mr. Farnum, only in general terms.
Burke pressed the button on the desk, and, when the doorman appeared, ordered that the prisoner be returned to her cell. But Mary stood rebellious, and spoke with a resumption of her cynical scorn. "I suppose," she said, with a glance of contempt toward Demarest, "that it's useless for me to claim my constitutional rights, and demand to see a lawyer?" Burke, too, had cast off pretense at last.
"Gasoline is terribly high right now," Jo pointed out. "So's hay, for that matter," said Demarest bluntly. "I've heard, too, of a possible scarcity of gas," Jo told him. "Yes, but the scarcity of hay is almost as threatenin', my girl; and those big horses certainly can eat the stuff.
What deviltry! and, ah! what a confession of guilt on the part of the vile man who had planned this abominable end for the two persons whose evidence he dreaded. Helpless with horror, he became a man again in his indignation. Such villainy should not succeed. He would fight not only for his own life, but for this woman's. Miss Demarest was doubtless safe.
Quimby might have forgotten all about it if Miss Demarest had not made a certain remark on leaving the room. The bareness and inhospitable aspect of the place may have struck her, for she stopped in the doorway and, looking back, exclaimed: "What ugly paper! Magenta, too, the one colour my mother hates." This Mrs.
Quimby accompanied her, and afterward visited her again for the purpose of carrying her a bowl and some water. It was then she encountered Miss Demarest, who, anxious for a second and more affectionate good-night from her mother, had been wandering the halls in a search for her room. There was nothing to note in this simple occurrence, and Mrs.
There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyer resumed his questioning. "Did this burglar come into the room?" Dick nodded an assent. "And he attacked you?" There came another nod of affirmation. "And there was a struggle?" "Yes," Dick said, and now there was resolution in his answer. "And you shot him?" Demarest asked, smoothly. "Yes," the young man said again.
It was, therefore, with his accustomed blandness of manner that he presently acknowledged the greeting of George Demarest, the chief of the legal staff that looked after the firm's affairs. He was aware without being told that the lawyer had called to acquaint him with the issue in the trial of Mary Turner.
Altogether, the aspect of the case served to indicate that Dick could not have been the slayer.... Demarest shook his head dejectedly. "Burke," he said, "I want the boy to go free. I don't believe for a minute that Dick Gilder ever killed this pet stool-pigeon of yours. And, so, you must understand this: I want him to go free, of course." Burke frowned refusal at this suggestion.
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