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Updated: May 7, 2025
Then, with a more thoughtful eye, he ripped open the letter from his more distinguished contributor, which bore a postmark of Devonshire, and read as follows: DEAR NUTT, As I see you're working Spooks and Dooks at the same time, what about an article on that rum business of the Eyres of Exmoor; or as the old women call it down here, the Devil's Ear of Eyre?
After we reached Melbourne and I became acquainted with the Eyres, they did all they could to find out Luke, but they were unsuccessful." "What had become of him?" "They could not think. The last time Mr. Eyre saw him, Luke said he thought he had obtained a clue to the men who killed John. He promised to go back the following day and tell Mr. Eyre more about it. But he did not.
The gist of it is that the Delavan Eyres have separated and a divorce is impending. You know, of course, who the Eyres are." "I've met Eyre." "That so? Ever met his wife?" "No," replied Banneker, in good faith. "No; you wouldn't have, probably. They travel different paths. Besides, she's been practically living abroad. She's a stunner. It's big society stuff, of course.
The curse of the Eyres of old has lain heavy on this country, and many have suffered from it. They know there are none who have suffered from it as I have." And with that he crushed a piece of the fallen glass under his heel, and strode away among the green twilight of the twinkling apple-trees.
The Eyres, then holding the royal castle of the Peak, were suspected of being secretly Roman Catholics, and though the Earl could not avoid hospitably bidding them to supper, the less any Talbot had to do with them the better, and for the present Cis must be contented to be reckoned as one.
He told them about John, little thinking that I and Frederick should meet the Eyres afterwards. John died from a shot." "From a shot!" involuntarily exclaimed Lionel. "He and Luke were coming down to Melbourne from where was it? the Bendigo Diggings, I think; but I heard so much of the different names, that I am apt to confound one with another.
"Glad to see you, old man," said Eyres, somewhat awkwardly. "Wasn't expecting to find you up here. Not a bad idea though, after all. Society's an awful sham. Must be a relief to shake the giddy whirl and retire to er contemplation and er prayer and hymns, and those things. "Oh, cut that, Tommy," said Bellchambers, cheerfully. "Don't be afraid that I'll pass around the plate.
And this is the story that Tommy Eyres and Lancelot Gilliam brought back with them from their latest European tour. The other day I ran across my old friend Ferguson Pogue. Pogue is a conscientious grafter of the highest type.
Though written violently, it was in excellent English; but the editor, as usual, had given to somebody else the task of breaking it up into sub-headings, which were of a spicier sort, as "Peeress and Poisons", and "The Eerie Ear", "The Eyres in their Eyrie", and so on through a hundred happy changes.
He was unconscious that he called her by the familiar name. He was wishing he could have shielded her from all this. Painful as the retrospect might be to her, the recital was far more painful to him. "After that, we met Captain Cannonby. I did not much like him, but he was kind to us. He got us to change to an hotel made them find room for us and then introduced me to the Eyres.
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