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Updated: May 17, 2025
"We are getting on," Gurdon said. "That little touch about the Portuguese language clearly points to Fenwick." "Of course, it does," Venner went on. "But that is not quite all. The letter goes on to say that something like a struggle took place, after which the cripple was bundled into the cab, which was driven away.
One can't be too careful." The lift-boy was still sleeping on the bed; but his features were twitching, as if already the drug was beginning to lose its effect. At least, so Gurdon shrewdly thought, and subsequent events proved that he was not far wrong. He was standing in his own room now, waiting by the ventilator, when he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the wall.
There was no doubt whatever about it, for it was impossible to shake the lad into the slightest semblance of life. Gurdon crossed to the door, and found, not to his surprise, that it was locked. His first impulse was to return to his room and call the night porter; but a strange, wild idea had come into his mind, and he refrained from doing so.
They rushed headlong into the drawing-room, where they seemed to pause, no doubt deterred in their violence for a moment by the sight of the cripple's revolver. "Here's our chance," Gurdon whispered. "The girl will be back with the police in two minutes, and we have heard quite enough to know the ingenious scheme which is uppermost in the cripple's mind. Let's lock them in.
"It's a most extraordinary thing," Gurdon replied. "Now isn't this man Fenwick one of the last persons in the world you would credit with a love of music?" "I don't know," Venner said. "You never can tell. But don't let's talk. We are here more to listen than anything else. I wish we could get a glimpse of the singer." "I am going to," Gurdon declared.
With his superior knowledge of past events, he could see in this something that it was impossible for Gurdon to follow. "I suppose this is some of the gold from the Four Finger Mine?" Gurdon suggested. "Do you know, I have never handled any virgin gold before. I had an idea that it was more brilliant and glittering. Is this very good stuff?" "Absolutely pure, I should say," Venner replied.
The dancers were at rest, and Angie Fay too, the stewards serving them with refreshments; but Fluke and Gurdon were playing softly together on their violins, Fluke with waved hair on his forehead, Gurdon with still brow. Vesty had taken up her sleeping child and was holding him. The Basins loved sad music, low, mournful lullabys on the wind; they listened.
It was only the work of a moment to replace the panel, but hardly had they done so before they heard a confused murmur of voices on the other side. Gurdon pressed his back to the panel until the noise of the voices ceased. "That was a pretty close call," he said. "Give me the mouldings and I will try to make them secure without any unnecessary noise.
Gurdon went on to his own room, where he slowly undressed and sat thinking the whole thing out on the edge of his bed. Perhaps he was suffering from the same suppressed excitement which at that moment was keeping Venner awake, for he felt not the slightest disposition to turn in. Usually he was a sound sleeper; but this night seemed likely to prove an exception to the rule.
But both Gurdon and Venner searched in vain for a scrap of information that threw any light on the identity of the missing man. His habits were described at some length, a tolerably accurate description of his household appeared in several quarters; but nothing very much beyond that.
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