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Updated: June 28, 2025
Fenn's attempt at complete candour was only partially convincing. "There is not the slightest reason," he declared, "why anything concerning Julian Orden should be concealed from any member of the Council who desires information. If you will follow me into my private room, Miss Abbeway, and you, Furley, I shall be glad to tell you our exact position.
"They never do spend ten minutes together alone," Julian replied drily. "I see to that. Then my mother, you know, has the knack of getting interesting people together. The Bishop is coming, amongst others. And, Furley, I wanted to ask you do you know anything of a young woman she is half Russian, I believe who calls herself Miss Catherine Abbeway?" "Yes, I know her," was the brief rejoinder.
Those who were entitled to followed her into the room across the passage. One or two secretaries and a visitor remained outside. Six of them seated themselves at the long table Phineas Cross, the Northumbrian pitman, Miles Furley, David Sands, representative of a million Yorkshire mill-hands, Thomas Evans, the South Wales miner.
"Who's outside?" he demanded. "The Bishop and Mr. Furley. Great though my confidence is in you both, I scarcely ventured to come here alone." The approaching footsteps were plainly audible. Fenn shrugged his shoulders with a desperate attempt at carelessness. "I don't know what is in your mind, Miss Abbeway," he said. "You can scarcely believe that you, at any rate, were in danger at our hands."
"I am waiting for an explanation, Julian," he announced. "You shall have it," was the prompt reply. "The companion of the man who was shot, for whom the police are searching at this moment, is a guest in my father's house. I have had to go to the extent of lying to save her from detection." "Her?" Furley gasped. "Yes!
Tulliver as tenant, and be willing to advance money to be repaid with high interest out of the profits of the business, which would be made over to him, Mr. Tulliver only taking enough barely to maintain himself and his family. Who would neglect such a profitable investment? Certainly not Furley, for Mr.
I am not suggesting that there is any real connection between your cable and this fact, but that you should mention it at this particular moment well, as I said, it's a coincidence." "Why?" Furley had risen to his feet. He threw open the door and listened for a moment in the passage. When he came back he was carrying some oilskins.
"We'll leave the others to talk till daylight, if they want to." Julian and Furley left the place together. They looked for the Bishop but found that he had slipped away. "To Downing Street, I believe," Furley remarked. "He has some vague idea of suggesting a compromise." "Compromise!" Julian repeated a little drearily. "How can there be any such thing! There might be delay.
"You got one more than I did." "Sheer luck. The outside bird dipped down to me." Furley filled his guest's glass and then his own. "What on earth have you kept your shooting kit on for?" the latter asked, with lazy curiosity. Furley glanced down at his incongruous attire and seemed for a moment ill at ease. "I've got to go out presently," he announced. Julian raised his eyebrows.
"It's only a coincidence, of course," Furley went on, "but number thirty-eight happens to be the two-mile block of seacoast of which this cottage is just about the centre. It stretches to Cley on one side and Salthouse on the other, and inland as far as Dutchman's Common.
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