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Updated: June 1, 2025


Thornhill in a somewhat blustering tone, and pushing forward. "As his medical adviser, it's my duty to make sure at once." "I'll tell you whether Lord Loudwater is alive or not. Don't let any one cross the threshold, Perkins," said Mr. Flexen, with quiet decision. Perkins laid a hand on the doctor's arm, and the doctor said: "A nice way of doing things!

He seems to be one of those men who fall in love hard every time they fall in love. He said that it was one of the mysteries of the polite world how he had kept out of the Divorce Court." "Sounds an odd type," said Mr. Flexen, storing up the information, and marking how little it agreed with his own observation of Colonel Grey. "And you say that Lady Loudwater is interesting too?" "Oh, come!

"What family?" said Mr. Flexen. "She's a Quainton, with Italian blood in her veins." "The deuce she is!" cried Mr. Flexen, and half a dozen stories of the Quaintons rose in his mind. He must amend his impressions of Lady Loudwater. "And she has a keener sense of humour than any woman I ever came across," said Mr. Manley, driving his contention home. "Has she?" said Mr. Flexen. There was a pause.

Flexen beside Helena's strange anxiety, that she had done something of which she had not told him, something that might have drawn suspicion on her. He did not see what she could have done; but there it was. He had a feeling, an intuition that it was she whom Mr. Flexen was seeking, and he prided himself on his intuition.

Manley, in an examination of the murdered man's papers. They were uncommonly few, and Mr. Manley had already set them in order. Lord Loudwater seemed to have kept but few letters, and the papers consisted chiefly of receipted and unreceipted bills. When he found that Mr. Flexen had come to confer with the lawyer, Mr. Manley assumed an air of extraordinary discretion and softly withdrew.

"A man must often want to know how he spent his money in a given year." "I'm sure I never want to," said Mr. Manley. "And certainly pass-books are unattractive-looking objects to have about." "All the same, they might have proved very useful in this case," said Mr. Flexen. "Of course, they wouldn't tell us anything we shall not find out eventually.

I'd tell you like a shot." "That's odd," said Mr. Flexen, again disappointed. "I should have thought it impossible for your master to have been on intimate terms with a lady without your coming to hear of it. You've always been his butler." "Yes, sir. But this is the kind of thing as a valet gets to know about more than a butler letters left about, or in pockets, you know, sir.

But physically, his right hand might have driven that blade into his heart." "I thought so myself, though of course I'm no expert," said Mr. Flexen. "And I agree with you when you say that you are morally certain that the wound was not self-inflicted. Those bad-tempered brutes may murder other people, but themselves never."

"I never suggested for a moment that she was a woman of primitive emotions," Mr. Manley protested with some vehemence. "But the emotions of all women are primitive," said Mr. Flexen. "Not the emotion excited in them by beauty," said Mr. Manley with chivalrous warmth. "And, hang it all! Does she look like a woman to commit murder?" "Not on her own account, certainly," said Mr. Flexen.

Flexen came back, and as he walked round the room, examining the rest of it, especially the carpet, Mr. Manley studied the man himself, the detective type. He was about five feet eight, broad-shouldered out of proportion to that height, but thin.

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