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Updated: June 26, 2025
Between thumb and finger the night clerk held a wet pen with the threat of a weapon; one of the bell-boys had seized a telephone directory and was looking at it sheepishly. Simultaneously the group was joined by the hastily summoned house-detective, and as one man they surged into the room. Lights sprang on with a click.
She would have made a good house-detective. But she never told tales. If she knew, she knew, and that was all. It was not for Sally to play the policeman. All knowledge went into her memory. It would be devastatingly produced on the occasion of a row, but Sally rarely quarrelled. With her, nothing ever came to a quarrel. There was no need for it to do so. She was neither jealous nor censorious.
The fortifying knowledge, two years later, that the Law was behind him when he was pushed happy and tingling through a transom to release the door-lock for a house-detective, was perhaps a foreshadowing of that pride which later welled up in his bosom at the phrase that he would always "have United Decency behind him," as the social purifiers fell into the habit of putting it.
Gypsy Nan, in her proper person, had murdered a man named Deemer in an effort to secure Danglar's voice came again: "Well, to-night we'll get that stuff, all of it it's worth a cool half million; and to-night we'll get Mr. House-Detective Cloran for keeps bump him off. That cleans everything up. How does that strike you, Bertha?" Rhoda Gray's hands under her shawl locked tightly together.
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