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Updated: May 11, 2025
He knew his friends would do their best to get the evidence to free him. It would be a battle royal between the truth and a lie. A youth with a face like a fox sidled up to Durand in the hotel lobby and whispered in his ear. Jerry nodded curtly, and the man slipped away as furtively as he had come. Presently the ex-prize-fighter got up, sauntered to the street, and hailed a taxi.
The message read: I'll come to your house at eight this evening. Better see me for Missie's sake. It was signed by Durand. When Jerry called he was admitted. Whitford met him with chill hostility. He held the telegram in his hand. "What does this message mean?" he asked bluntly. "Your daughter's engaged to Bromfield, ain't she?" demanded the ex-prize-fighter, his bulbous eyes full on his host.
Make a clean breast of it! Nerves gone to smash? I'd like to take you to see a chap I know an ex-prize-fighter who's a wonder at pulling fellows in your state out of their hole " "Oh, oh " Granice broke in. He stood up also, and the two men eyed each other. "You don't believe me, then?" "This yarn how can I? There wasn't a flaw in your alibi." "But haven't I filled it full of them now?"
"A looking-glass," replied the missionary, picking out a tract from the bundle he held in his hand and offering it to the ex-prize-fighter. "But the tract is not the glass I speak of, friend: here it is, in the Word of that God who made us all made the throats that swallow the drink, and the brains that reel under it."
"Billy," said John, "is the very mild-mannered and gentlemanlike 'bouncer' at the Altman House, an ex-prize-fighter, and about the most accomplished member of his profession of his day and weight, who is employed to keep order and, if necessary, to thrust out the riotous who would disturb the contemplations of the lovers of art that frequent the bar of that hotel."
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