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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Of course, you know that you can't take your luggage with you?" the captain remarked. "That is of no consequence at all, sir," Mr. Hamilton Fynes answered. "I will leave instructions for my trunk to be sent on after me. I have all that I require, for the moment, in this suitcase." The captain blew his whistle. Mr. Hamilton Fynes made his way quietly to the lower deck, which was almost deserted.
His name was Gerard Fynes, and his business was mumming. He was a young lawyer turned actor, and he had lived in Montreal before he went on the stage. He was English that was a misfortune; he was an actor that was a greater misfortune, for it suggested vagabondage of morals as well as of profession; and he was a Protestant, which was the greatest misfortune of all. But he was only at St.
He had at last secured information of where Zoe and Gerard Fynes had stayed while in Montreal; and now he followed clues which would bring him in touch with folk who knew them.
By the bye, that was rather an interesting address that she gave." "Devenham House," the hotel clerk remarked. "Do you know who lives there?" The inspector nodded. "The Duke of Devenham," he answered. "A very interesting young lady, I should think, that. I wonder what she and Mr. Hamilton Fynes would have talked about if they had lunched here today." The hotel clerk looked dubious.
He had offered it to her on coming out of the Registry Office, and she had accepted it silently. Her head drooped, she seemed to be turning matters over in her mind. She said, alluding to the Fynes: "They have been very good to me." At that he exclaimed: "They have never understood you. Well, not properly. My sister is not a bad woman, but..."
Hamilton Fynes had the appearance of a perfectly respectable transatlantic man of business, there was nothing about his personality remarkably striking, nothing, at any rate, to inspire an unusual amount of respect. "You wished to see me, sir?" the official asked, merely glancing up from the desk at which he was sitting with a pile of papers before him. Mr.
Spain and the Inquisition infected Italy and the Low Countries; France was full of desperate marauding soldiers; Germany nourished robbers and free-booters in every forest. It was the particular delight of Fynes Moryson to run into all these dangers and then devise means of escaping them.
Gaynsforth continued calmly, "is prepared to pay a thousand pounds for full information and proof as to the nature of those papers which were stolen from Mr. Hamilton Fynes on the night of March 22nd." "A thousand pounds," Mr. Coulson repeated. "Gee whiz!" "He is also," the Englishman continued, "prepared to pay another thousand for a satisfactory explanation of the murder of Mr.
It is evident to me that Mrs. What's her name would have had her atrocious way with very little trouble even if the excellent Fynes had been able to do something. She would simply have bullied de Barral in a lofty style. There's nothing more subservient than an arrogant man when his arrogance has once been broken in some particular instance.
"The wedding." And Grace blushed to the forehead at having to mention it. "No, indeed, he did not mention any such thing, or I should have shown him how unadvisable " "You mistake me. It is I who wish to be married from my father's house by good old Dr. Fynes. He married my parents, and he christened me, and now he shall marry me."
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