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Updated: June 8, 2025
"He is here at my command to-night after an illness of weeks. He has been Granberry's prisoner. His illness alone won his release for him through some inconsistent whim of sympathy on the part of Granberry. He wears the garb of a gray monk." "Send him here." The Baron bowed and withdrew. At the path he turned.
In the web which had engulfed one by one, himself, Themar, Granberry, Miss Westfall and Poynter, a murderous stranger was floundering. Who and what he was, it behooved His Excellency to discover. "It would seem," reflected the Baron with grim humor as he thought of his car and his secretary, "that I am paying heavily for my part in a task not greatly to my liking."
It was a little hard, however, to reconcile the sullen, resentful, impudent young scapegrace of that other night with the man of to-night. He put out his hand to touch the second candlestick the telephone bell rang. Carl frowned impatiently and answered it. "Hello," said he. "Yes, this is Carl Granberry speaking . . . Who? . . . Oh! Hello, Hunch, is that you?" It plainly was. Moreover, Mr.
"I would have you face this thing squarely and investigate it link by link. I would have you abandon the damnable man-hunt that has sent one man to his death in a Florida swamp and goaded another to a reckless frenzy in which all things were possible. Themar is dead. That Granberry is alive is attributable solely to the fact that he was cleverer and keener than any of those who hounded him.
What has Themar been doing? . . . What have you done? . . . Why is Granberry still alive? Hereafter, Tregar, Themar will report to me. I personally will see that the thing is cleared up and silenced forever. I may trust at least to your silence?" "My word as a gentleman is sufficient?" "It is." "Consider me pledged to silence as I have been for a quarter of a century." "Where is Themar?"
I am sick of this land of insolent men like Granberry and Poynter, who bend the knee to no man." "You would go back then, ill, sullen, resentful, with the news that we must lay before your father? By Heaven, no!" thundered the Baron with one of his infrequent outbursts. "Let us go back smiling, for all we have lost, and seek to tell of this child of Theodomir with what grace we can muster.
It was nearly noon and there was no single east-side acquaintance no, not even Link Murphy, the terrible whom he feared as he feared Carl Granberry. Weeping, Aunt Agatha watched him go. Diane was to learn that the infernal persistence of the Old Man of the Sea of Arabian origin could find its match in youth. A week slipped by.
"After we went down-stairs with our clean collars on, Willie never went near Myra again that night. After all, he seemed to be a diluted kind of a skim-milk sort of a chap, and I never wondered that Joe Granberry beat him out.
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