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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Did you say you were leaving by the eleven-fifty? I think I shall come with you." "My dear Jack, how you change! I thought you were going to stay down here for another week." "I was," he answered. "But I have had a line from Cynthia to tell me that her hand is poisoned from that infernal trap. It may be very serious. It probably is, or she would not have written."
But my head-waiter man it was furnished for a friend of his he says he likes it better than any other room in the house. It is comfortable, and you get lots of sunlight and " "I'll take How much is it, please, with board?" She spoke with a take-it-or-leave-it defiance. "Eleven-fifty a week."
Raffles 'as gawn, sir," said the porter, with a note of reproach in his confidential undertone. The man was a favorite with Raffles, who used him and tipped him with consummate tact, and he knew me only less well. "Gone!" I echoed aghast. "Where on earth to?" "Scotland, sir." "Already?" "By the eleven-fifty lawst night." "Last night! I thought he meant eleven-fifty this morning!"
"At least let me see you off," I urged at the door. "I promise not to look at your ticket if you tell me the train!" "The eleven-fifty from Euston." "Then I'll be with you by quarter to ten." And I left him without further parley, reading his impatience in his face. Everything, to be sure, seemed clear enough without that fuller discussion which I loved and Raffles hated.
We meant to take the train at nine forty-five, but well, you know timetables. It turned out to be an up train instead of a down train. It was all my fault. It wouldn't matter, but Mr. Waldron will miss a more than important engagement with a ship sailing for South America if he doesn't get back to catch the eleven-fifty to town. You see there isn't a conveyance here "
Besides, we'll be off places, Sundays, and I'll come home for lunch Saturday, and you'll feed me up." "But, Bert," she began again presently, "I'll have to get ice, and car fares, and drugs, and soap, and thread, and butter, and bread, and meat, and salad-oil, and everything else in the world out of that eleven-fifty!" Bert was frowning hard.
Dim shapes on the walls of the room indicated what by day was a tangle of clockwork and recording instruments, connected by electricity with various buttons and switches upon the table. The brother of the big clock in the wireless operating room hung nearby, its face illuminated by a tiny electric lamp, showing the hour to be eleven-fifty.
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