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Updated: June 26, 2025
Robert Fenley is at 104, Hendon Road, Battersea Park." He was tempted to have a word with Furneaux, but forbore, and tackled some other departmental business. It was a day fated, however, to evolve the unexpected. About a quarter to four the telephone bell rang, and Maselli informed him that Miss Garth's fiancé had just arrived at Gloucester Mansions. "Excellent," said Winter.
The roads, the railway stations, must be scoured, searched. Oh, do something, or I shall go mad!" Hilton Fenley did, indeed, wear the semblance of a man distraught. Horror stared from his deep-set eyes and lurked in the corners of his mouth.
Robert Fenley, and perhaps mother of a squalling Fenley, the head of the business could face the future if not with confidence, at least with safety. But where would Hilton be then? The girl lost, the money in jeopardy, and he himself steadily elbowed out. 'Cré nom! I've known men murdered for less convincing reasons." "Men, yes; not fathers." "Some sons are the offspring of Beelzebub.
"Naturally, I've been thinking a lot about that," he said, wrinkling his forehead in the effort to concentrate his mind and express himself with due solemnity. "It's funny, isn't it, that my rifle should be missing?" "Well, yes." Some sarcastic inflection in Winter's voice seemed to reach a rather torpid brain. Fenley looked up sharply. "Of course, funny isn't the right word," he said.
They signaled the car to stop, and his blood curdled, but, in the same instant, they saw the chauffeur's face; the other occupant was cowering as far back in the shadow as possible. "Oh, it's Dr. Stern," said one. "Right, Tom. By the way, have you seen anything of " "Go on, do!" growled Fenley, drowning the man's voice. "I'm in a vile hurry."
Robert Fenley was not expected to put in an appearance, or the Superintendent would have mentioned him with the others. On reaching the house there were evidences of disturbance. Hilton Fenley stood in the doorway, and was haranguing the newspaper men in a voice harsh with anger. This intrusion was unwarranted, illegal, impudent. He would have them expelled by force.
"Never heard of him.... Well, let's have a peep-o. Miss Manning and I dine at a quarter to eight. You've been taking some snapshots in the park, I'm told. If they've got any ginger in them " "Probably you will describe them as hot stuff," said Trenholme, laying a portfolio on the wall in front of Sylvia and opening it. "This is a pencil drawing of the great gates," he went on, ignoring Fenley.
What a queer little man this undersized detective was, to be sure, and how oddly he expressed himself! "I ask this just as a matter of form, but did Mr. Robert Fenley take his .450 Express rifle when he went away on Saturday?" said Winter. "No, sir. He had only a valise strapped to the carrier.
"Are you quite sure?" asked Fenley. "It is not in the gun rack, sir, nor in any of the corners." There was a pause. Fenley clearly forced the next words. "That's all right. Bates may have it in the gun room. We'll ask him. Or Mr. Robert may have taken it to the makers. I remember now he spoke of having the sight fitted with some new appliance." He called Bates.
"You're a tolerably self-possessed person," was the detective's unspoken thought, for Fenley was a different man now from the nervous, distrait son who had clamored for vengeance on his father's murderer. "You own up to the facts candidly when it is useless to do anything else, and you never fail to hammer a nail into Robert's coffin when the opportunity offers." But aloud he said
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