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Updated: May 20, 2025
Shirley drew him to the mirror, to make a closer study of the lines of senility and late hours. A few delicate touches of purple and blue, some retouching of the nostrils, and he drew on the suit provided by his elder. Dick Holloway was announced, and Shirley ordered some wine and a dinner for one! At Grimsby's surprise, Shirley, smiled indulgently.
"Ye'll kill me, ye'll kill me!" he wailed. "Fer God's sake, let up." "I want to kill ye," his captor roared. "Yer not worth livin'. Take that, an' that, an' that." Eben had lost complete control of himself now. The fury of his passion was let loose, and he shook and thumped his victim unmercifully. Grimsby's fear increased to terror, and he made frantic efforts to free himself.
Grimsby's visit was the principal cause, for she felt that she could not trust the man, notwithstanding the money he had received and his promise of secrecy. Was her child alive? she asked herself over and over again. Her heart called out for even the slightest knowledge of the one she had bartered for money. Money! The thought stung and almost maddened her.
The chauffeur helped him up the steps of the brownstone mansion, while Grimsby's old butler swung open the glass door, with a helping hand under the feeble arm. Shirley puffed and grunted impatiently until he heard the door close behind him. Then straightening up, he turned upon the startled butler. "Well, my man. Go out and tell the chauffeur to leave for the country at once, as Mr.
Ruthven ended his short epistle to his wife by saying he should soon follow his messenger; but that at present he could not bring himself to entirely abandon the Lowlands to even a temporary empire of the seditious chiefs. On Grimsby's arrival at Huntingtower he was conducted immediately to Bruce.
Later, at the Club, he submitted to the amenities of the barber, whose fine Italian hand smoothed away, in a skilful massage, the haggard lines of his long vigil. As he left the club house for William Grimsby's residence he looked as fresh and bouyant as though he had enjoyed the conventional eight hours' sleep.
Shirley manacled the prisoner, and gagged him with a tightly knotted handkerchief. He put the greatcoat of Grimsby's about Helene's shoulders, as he brought her to the front seat of the machine. Then he shut the doors on the prisoner, and drove the automobile out through the Easterly entrance of the park. "I'm not really brave, Mr. Montague," said the tired voice at his side.
"I don't understand," and her eyes widened in wonder, not without an accompanying blush which did not escape Holloway. "No longer a lamb in sheep's clothing, I want to entertain you, without the halo of William Grimsby's millions. I want to take tea with these gentle-voiced cut-throats, who after my warning to-day, are directing their attention to me."
"Old Grimsby's picked a live one, this time!" "What show is she with?" "Won't Pinkie be sore?" The criminologist was not left to wonder as to the identity of "Pinkie," for an older man, walking behind a red-headed girl in a luridly modern gown, approached the table with the absent guest. The men were talking earnestly, the girl staring angrily at Shirley's, beautiful companion.
I will not return to Grimsby's house, but propose now to get down to brass tacks with Mr. Voice, even though the tacks be hard to sit upon. I wish to use her as a bait, by taking her out to tea and getting a first-hand speaking acquaintance with these convivial assassins." "Monty, you are wasting your talents outside the pages of a play manuscript, but we will make that call instanter."
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