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Updated: September 12, 2025
By the time I reached our place I found the chief in the deuce of a stew. Your man had got back, and reported that she'd gone. They'd kicked up the devil's delight at Headquarters, and the chief was out for blood. He was determined to arrest somebody, and I suggested Ramsey, but he got purple in the face and told me he'd instructed your people to bag Froelich.
Froelich's name was German, and of course it was natural that he would have German sympathies." "Um! And what do you think, Mr. Crane?" The Assistant Commissioner was silent for a moment. "You see, I don't know Mr. Froelich," he said. "But you do know Mr. Ramsey," replied Clancey. "Not well." "What about his chief? You know him well enough. Why not ask him?"
Some of the carriages had no coachman's box or driver, but were harnessed to four horses ridden by postillions in green satin or scarlet velvet, with white feathers in their caps. The only great demi-mondaine of whom I had hitherto caught a glimpse was the renowned Madame de Paiva, who had a little palace by the side of the house in which Froelich the painter lived, in the Champs Elysees.
He was shrewd enough, however, not to give his real reason to the policeman, but put it on the ground of being so confused that he couldn't remember. This left Delany responsible for everything. "But you said that that was the feller!" argued the cop, who had gone to urge Froelich to assume the onus of the charge. "And now you want to leave me holdin' the bag!"
He knew it was useless to try and forget her; that was impossible, but, in the meantime, what? Suddenly his reflections were interrupted. Some one was ringing the bell at the entrance. Bobby went to the door. Two men were standing outside strangers to him. "Are you Mr. Froelich?" one of them asked. "Yes," answered Bobby. "Why? What do you want?" "I should like to speak to you a moment."
He had strolled unexpectedly round the corner from his dad's saloon, had seen the row going on between Froelich and the gang of boys that after school hours used the street in front of the shop as a ball ground, and had merely seized the opportunity to vindicate his reputation as a desperado and put one over on the Dutchman. The fact that he had on a red sweater was the barest coincidence.
Froelich for many years, he had implicitly trusted him. He was here only a few minutes before you came, and he told me that there was no doubt at all but that he had been the victim of a conspiracy between Froelich and this Madame de Corantin. He admitted that he ought to have been on his guard, considering that Mr.
Within the letter was a cheque for L2,500. "Not so bad," muttered Peter, "but he's got the Mauve and the Daubigny for nothing, and there were no expenses on this deal." When War came, Julian Froelich, known to his friends as "Bobby," found himself in a situation which in his wildest dreams he had never contemplated.
I thought you were going to stick to 'Frobisher." Turning to Clyde, he observed: "This man's name is Fraser. One of his peculiarities is a dislike of proper names. He has never found one that suited him." "I like 'Froelich' pretty well," observed the imperturbable Fraser. "It sounds distanguay, and " "Don't believe anything he tells you," Boyd broke in, seating himself.
"Very well, Inspector; show him in at once." Bobby came into the room; his expression was more bewildered than apprehensive. The Assistant Commissioner held out his hand, which Bobby took with a look of surprise. "Do sit down, Mr. Froelich. I am so sorry to have troubled you.
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