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Updated: June 2, 2025
C at the theatre." "And you've got it?" cried Gammon excitedly. Yes, she had got it, and by consulting a directory at a public-house she had discovered the name of the family residing at that address. Gildersleeve? The name conveyed nothing to Mr. Gammon; none the less he was delighted. "Good for you, Polly! But how did you do it?" She put on an air of mystery.
Gildersleeve had come down on a holiday trip, and run up against him at Plymouth by pure accident. Indeed, Guy remembered now that the great Q.C. looked not a little surprised and excited at meeting him. Clearly Gildersleeve had communicated with the police at once; hence the issue of the warrant.
At the fork the battery of Napoleons had halted, and there it was ordered to remain for the present in quiet. There, too, the Fourteenth filed in among the dense greenery, threw out two companies of skirmishers toward the ridge, and pushed slowly after them into the shadows. "Get sight of the enemy at once!" was Waldron's last word to Gildersleeve. "If they move down the slope, drive them back.
"Yes," Elma answered, nestling close and looking red as a rose. "He knows very well Guy didn't do it, but he wants all the rest of the world to acknowledge it also." "And YOU know who did it?" Mrs, Clifford said, with a tentative air. "Yes, mother. Do you?" "Of course I do, darling. But it'll never be proved against HIM, you may be sure. I saw it at a glance. It's Mr. Gilbert Gildersleeve."
"It hangs to him. Bet you two to one he takes it along." "You're right, Adjutant; spoken like a soldier," swore Gildersleeve. "And the Bloody Fourteenth, too! It will march into the burning pit as far as any regiment; and the whole brigade, yes sir! But a backslidden shepherd, my God! Have we come to that?
Cyril felt all was up. Elma glanced at him trembling. This was horrible, inconceivable, inexplicable, fatal. The very stars in their courses seem to fight against Guy. Blind chance checkmated them. No hope was left now, save in Gilbert Gildersleeve's own sense of justice. But Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve sat there, transfixed with horror. No answering gleam now shot through his dull, glazed eye.
He had no reason to suppose, indeed, that Gilbert Gildersleeve had any special interest in his visit to Mambury, further than might be implied in its possible connection with Granville Kelmscott's affairs; and he didn't believe Gwendoline, in her fear of her father, that blustering man, would ever have communicated to him the personal facts of their interview at Tilgate.
He turned pale at the sight Gilbert Gildersleeve turned pale, that great red man. At first he didn't even remember the young fellow's name; but it came back to him in time that he was one Guy Waring. It was a hard ordeal to meet him, but Gilbert Gildersleeve felt he must brazen it out. To slink away from the young man would be to rouse suspicion.
Then again, though his elder brother's male children had died, there was living a daughter, by name Adeline, recently wedded to by jorrocks! Lucian Gildersleeve, Esquire. Why, here was "the whole boiling of 'em!" Mr. Gammon eagerly jotted down the particulars in his notebook, and swallowed the whisky at his side with gusto.
Gildersleeve was cultivating corn in a field that fronted the highway. He and his wealthier neighbor were not on the best of terms. A line fence and an unruly ox had made trouble. Mr. Gildersleeve had sued Mr. Markham, and beat him; and Mr. Gildersleeve didn't take any pains now to look up as he saw who was coming. But Mr. Markham drew up his horses. "Hello, Gildersleeve!" "Hello yourself, Mr.
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