United States or Vietnam ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The result was that he hastily revised an intention half-formed in his mind of taking Jeekes a little way into his confidence regarding Robin Greve's doubts and suspicions about Hartley Parrish's death. But he answered the secretary's question readily enough. "Because Miss Trevert told me you went to the library immediately you arrived at Harkings last night.
I say 'to some extent' because I will not deny that I thought I might be taking a risk in coming to you like this. You see I am frank!..." The smile had left Greve's face and he looked rather grim. "You're pretty deep, aren't you?" was his brief comment. Major Euan MacTavish was packing.
Don't you realize that you have dragged my sister into this wretched business? Don't you understand that her name will be bandied about before a lot of rotten yokels at the inquest?" Robin Greve's eyes glittered dangerously.
"Perhaps, when we have the letter," he replied, "I shall be able to answer that question!" Then he lit a cigarette, gave the boy his hand, and a minute later Bruce Wright, watching through the chink of the curtain from the window of Robin Greve's chambers, saw a lanky form shuffle across the court and follow Robin round the angle of the house.
Manderton, quitted Robin Greve's chambers in the Temple, leaving his friend and the detective alone together. To tell the truth, Bruce Wright was in no mood for facing the provincial gloom of a wet Sunday evening in London, nor did he find alluring the prospect of a suburban supper-party at the quiet house where he lived with his widowed mother and sisters in South Kensington.
"I don't see you have any reason to try and impugn Greve's motive for wishing to get at the bottom of this mysterious affair ..." Mr. Jeekes affected to be engrossed in the manicuring of his nails. Very intently he rubbed the nails of one hand against the palm of the other.
But at the sound of Greve's foot upon the staircase, the conversation ceased and a silence fell on the group. Greve's attention was immediately attracted towards the stranger, whom he surmised to be the detective from Scotland Yard. He was a big, burly man with a heavy dark moustache, straight and rather thin black hair, and coarse features.
Greve's voice?" "I cannot say, Miss. It was just the sound of voices, rather loud-like. I caught the sound because the door leading from the hall to the library corridor was ajar. Mr. Greve must have forgotten to shut it." "What did you do?" "Well, Miss, I closed the corridor door ..." "Why did you do that?"
"Well, sir," said Bude, unmoved, "I believe, now I come to think of it, that Mr. Parrish did say something about the wind blowing his papers about ..." "That is to say, he had been working with the window open?" Robin Greve's question rang out sharply. It was an affirmation more than a question. "Yes, sir, leastways I suppose so, sir ..." "Which window?" "Why, the one Mr.
"Well, sir, I thought ... I didn't want to listen...." "You thought one of the voices was Mr. Greve's, eh? Having a row with Mr. Parrish, eh? About the lady, isn't that right?" "Aren't you going rather too fast?" said Robin quietly. But the detective ignored him. "Come on and answer my question, my man," he said harshly. "Didn't you think it was Mr. Hartley Parrish and Mr.
Word Of The Day