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Updated: June 18, 2025
I am not able to say how long after, but certainly it could be no very considerable space before he and Dumbleton robbed Mr. Bradley, in Kirby Street, by Hatton Garden, of his hat and wig, at the same time trampling on him, beating him, and using him in the most cruel manner imaginable, as was sworn by Mr. Bradley upon their trial.
He reached his room to find three other boys busily engaged in abusing their house-master. They took no notice of John, who leaned against the wall. "His lordship is in the drawing-room with Mr. Rutford." A freckle-faced, red-headed youth, with a big elastic mouth had imitated Dumbleton admirably. "What a snob Dick is!" drawled a very tall, very thin, aristocratic-looking boy.
"Well," he said, "you may tell my cousin that she need not burn the hall down in my honour time, and that I shall be obliged if she will order the blue-room chimney to be swept before I arrive." "That sounds tragic. Had you a conflagration on the occasion of your last visit to Dumbleton?" "Something like it.
John described his return to Trieve's room, and Trieve's threat. "Lovell and you tell the same story." "Why, yes, sir." John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; but his face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless. Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recited what he knew and what he suspected.
No reasons were alleged, and no apologies offered, for this demand upon my time; but they had heard, it was clear, of my inquiries anent the missing director, and had a mind to put me through some sort of official examination upon the subject. Being still a guest at Dumbleton Hall, I had to go up to London for the purpose, and Jonathan Jelf accompanied me.
The moon would be up by and by however, and giving light enough, he thought, before he came to the spot where his way parted company with that to Dumbleton. The moon, however, did not see fit to rise so soon as John expected her: he was not at that time quite up in moons, any more than in the paths across that moor.
They were both so charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and, strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr.
"The adjective you used," continued Rutford, "was 'dirty. You spoke of me as 'Dirty Dick, and I fancy I caught the word 'beast. You will write out, if you please, one hundred Greek lines, accents and stops, and bring them to me, or leave them with Dumbleton, twenty-five lines at a time, every alternate half hour during the afternoon of the next half holiday. Good night to you."
"I thought I knew your face," he said; "but your name, I regret to say " "Langford William Langford. I have known Jonathan Jelf since we were boys together at Merchant Taylor's, and I generally spend a few weeks at Dumbleton in the shooting season. I suppose we are bound for the same destination?" "Not if you are on your way to the manor," he replied.
He had glanced at me as he came in, but without any gleam of recognition in his face. Now he glanced again, as I fancied, somewhat doubtfully. When he did so for the third or fourth time, I ventured to address him. "Mr. John Dwerrihouse, I think?" "That is my name," he replied. "I had the pleasure of meeting you at Dumbleton about three years ago." Mr. Dwerrihouse bowed.
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