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Updated: May 31, 2025
We all know your history, my fine gentleman; we know that you cannot wipe out the past, so you're trying to whitewash it over with good works. That's an old trick, and it won't go down here. Do you think we don't see through you and your palavering speeches? Why have you refused to take action against Roden and Von Holzen? Because they've paid you. Look at him, gentlemen!
In his eyes, wandering from one face to the other, there lurked the question as to whether they had seen Roden and Von Holzen quit his door a minute earlier.
Cornish concentrated his attention on the upraised arm, seizing it with both hands, and actually swinging his assailant off his legs. He knew in an instant who it was, without needing to recognize the smell of malgamite. This was Otto von Holzen, who had not hesitated to state his opinion that it is often worth a man's while to kill another.
There was perhaps the nucleus of a great man in Otto von Holzen, after all, for there was no smallness in his mind. He opened the door, and stood aside for her to pass out. "It is not because you do not fear me that you let me go," said Mrs. Vansittart. "But because you are afraid of Tony Cornish." And she went out, wondering whether the shot had told or missed.
Von Holzen was a German, and that nation combines courage with so deep a caution that mistaken persons sometimes think the former adjunct lacking. The mark of a wound across his cheek told that in his student days this man had, after due deliberation, considered it necessary to fight. Some, looking at Von Holzen's face, might wonder what mark the other student bore as a memento of that encounter.
"All the same, I have lived longer than any of them," he said. How many of us pride ourselves upon possessing an advantage which others never covet! "Yes," answered Von Holzen, gravely. "How old are you?" "Nearly thirty-five," was the answer. Von Holzen nodded, and, turning on his heel, looked thoughtfully out of the window.
It is, after all, no use being learned without looking learned, and Professor von Holzen took care to dress according to his station in life. His attitude towards the world seemed to say, "Leave me alone and I will not trouble you," which is, after all, as satisfactory an attitude as may be desired.
As he spoke he had withdrawn from his pocket a folded paper, which he was fingering thoughtfully. Dorothy, who knew that she had by her looks unwittingly warned him, made no motion to go now. He would say nothing that he did not deliberately intend for her ears as much as for her brother's. Von Holzen opened the paper slowly, and looked at it as if every line of it was familiar.
Mechanically he counted them, twelve hundred gulden in all, and restored them to the pocket from which he had taken them half an hour earlier. He walked to the window and waited. When at length the district doctor arrived, Von Holzen turned to greet him with a stiff bow. "I am afraid, Herr Doctor," he said, in German, "You are too late."
"If you think that Herr von Holzen is a philanthropist, my dear," said Marguerite Wade, sententiously, "that is exactly where your toes turn in." She addressed this remark to Joan Ferriby, whose eyes were certainly veiled by that cloak of charity which the kind-hearted are ever ready to throw over the sins of others.
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