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Updated: May 1, 2025
"There's a big 'un now just the opposite to the little 'un, Hawkshaw. I 'ope I 'aven't to tackle this customer, though. He'd gimme a doin', by the looks of 'im." Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press photographer had mentioned the Big 'Un and the Little 'Un of the Yard. "Now, I wonder," he said.
"And you have no wife in England, Roger Hawkshaw?" Cacama asked. Roger laughed merrily. "Why, I was but a boy when I left home; and as far as marriage goes, I am but a boy still. We consider it young enough, if we take a wife at five and twenty; and I lack six years of that, yet." "You are a man," Cacama said gravely.
My friends Le Coq, Hawkshaw, and Old Sleuth will bear me out in this, I think, however much in other respects our methods may have differed. They left no stone unturned in the pursuit of a criminal; no detail, however trifling, uncared for. No more should we in the present instance overlook the minutest bit of evidence, however irrelevant and absurd at first blush it may appear to be.
The Frostola man is building a secret ice-cream stand. A modern one, out of poured concrete walls. He's not building it where anyone can see it, because he doesn't want to be bothered by customers." Rick grinned. "Okay, Hawkshaw. That's enough deduction for one morning. Take a look at that sky. Have you heard a weather report lately?"
I did not find it necessary to go about saying 'Ha! ha! as M. Le Coq was accustomed to do to advertise his cleverness; neither did I disguise myself as a drum-major and hide under a kitchen-table for the purpose of solving a mystery involving the abduction of a parlor stove, after the manner of the talented Hawkshaw.
'So very, very sorry! 'What the deuce! Old Tom came close to the door. 'You whimpering! You put a man in a beast of a bed you drive him half mad and then begin to blubber! Go away. 'I am so sorry, sir! 'If you don't go away, ma'am, I shall think your intentions are improper. 'Oh, my goodness! cried poor Mrs. Hawkshaw. 'What can one do with him? Mrs. Mel put Mrs. Hawkshaw behind her.
"I am Hawkshaw, the detective," responded the man, his mouth full of blackberry pie. "Gee whiz!" gasped Anderson. "Eva, it's the celebrated Hawkshaw." "Right you are, sir. I'm after the kid." "You'll have to identify it," something inspired Anderson to say. "Sure. That's easy. It's the one that was left on your doorstep last night," said the man glibly.
The wind set in, the next morning, freshly from the northeast; and with all sail set, the Swan ran gaily before it. "Would that this wind would blow, without a break, for another month," Reuben Hawkshaw said, as he sat at dinner with the two mates and Roger. Standing and Pengarvan looked up quickly; but the latter, without a question, again betook himself to feeding.
"This man is an impostor," whispered Le Coq to Hawkshaw. "I've known that all along by the mole on his left wrist," returned Hawkshaw, contemptuously. "I suspected it the minute I saw he was not disguised," returned Le Coq, knowingly.
Hawkshaw bustled out and tried to lay her hand on a man. Failing to find the growth spontaneous, she returned and begged the old gentleman to wait a few moments and the trunk would be sent up. 'Parcel o' women! was his reply. 'Regularly bedevilled. Gets worse and worse. I 'll carry it up myself. With a wheezy effort he persuaded the trunk to stand on one end, and then looked at it.
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