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The waiter who had run across the sidewalk and got into that carriage had borne a guilty secret with him, as the detective's experienced eye had instantly perceived. But this was a good deal worse than Nick had expected. He had looked for a robbery, or, perhaps, a secret and bloody quarrel between two of the waiters, but not for a murder such as this.
The big man nodded approvingly. "I'll send you a dose," he promised, "and don't you worry about your grandfather's having been murdered by any man. I've seen the body. Stuff and nonsense! Detective's an ass. Waiting for coroner, although I know he's one, too." "I pray," Bobby answered listlessly, "that you're right." "If there's any little thing I can do," Paredes offered formally. "No, no.
The prophet Balaam was not more taken aback when rebuked by his ass than Robert Fenley when Furneaux turned and rent him in this fashion. Hitherto the detective's manner had been mildness itself, so this change of front was all the more staggering. "Oh, I say!" came the blustering protest. "I don't allow any of you fellows to talk to me like that.
However, it is not to that detective's discredit that he failed to recognize her. She had adapted herself to her changed surroundings. Because she was of a different and higher class, and because she picked and chose her company, even when drink had beclouded her senses and instinct alone remained on drowsy guard, she prospered despite her indifference.
I'm afraid Richard hasn't the Dodd ability to drive a sharp trade." But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the door of the anteroom. He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had handed it to him.
He had wrecked a human life. The detective had declared to Mr. Bingle that his client was a man of means, married, and eminently respectable, but then a detective's idea of respectability is not always a safe one to go by. Every man is respectable until some one is hired to prove that he isn't. When Mr. Force rang the front door-bell, Mr. and Mrs. Bingle were seated before the fire in the library.
"He talked like a sane man; but he is at his last gasp. He must have had mighty strength once, only it is now worn down to nothing." An uneasy thought passed through the detective's mind.
He now saw the detective's trick, and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts there would be! After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his situation.
I am a judicial officer and as such I am prepared to protect the innocent to the limit of my powers." Britz had so arranged the chairs in his office as to compel those in the room to resolve themselves into two separate groups, like opposing sides in a judicial proceeding. Behind the detective's flat-top desk sat the coroner, while about him were ranged Britz, Manning and Greig.
Curtis's prompt admission was more favorable to his cause than he could possibly realize then, though he had seen that the detective's extraordinarily brilliant eyes were fixed on the garment's blood-stained sleeve. "And have you learnt the owner's name?" went on Steingall quietly. "Yes, that is, I believe so, owing to a document I found in one of the pockets." "Ah, what was that?"
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