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I called in at the club this afternoon. Did you get my message?" The little secretary blinked at him through his pince-nez. "There have been so many messages about this shocking affair that really I forget ..." He sighed heavily. "Couldn't I come in and have a yarn now?" Bruce spoke cajolingly. But Mr. Jeekes wrinkled his brow fussily.
Albert Edward Jeekes, Hartley Parrish's principal private secretary, lunched with Lady Margaret, Mary and Horace. Dr. Romain seemed not to have got over his embarrassment of the morning, for he did not put in an appearance. Mr.
There, hugging the wall, he crept round past the closed doors of the garage until he found himself beside the tall window adjoining the green door. The window was open a few inches at the top. From within the sound of voices reached him. Jeekes was speaking. Robin recognized his rather grating voice at once. "... no more violence," he was saying; "first Greve and now the girl.
"If you will come to Harkings with me the day after to-morrow, sir, I shall hope to show you exactly how Mr. Parrish met his death ..." "No, no, Manderton," responded the Chief; "I can't leave here for a bit. There are bigger murderers than Jeekes at liberty in Holland to-day ..." The detective slapped his thigh.
Thrift had become with him more than a habit. It was a positive obsession. It revealed itself in such petty meannesses as a perpetual cadging for matches or small change and a careful abstention from any offer of hospitality. Never in the whole course of his service had Bruce Wright heard of Mr. Jeekes taking anybody out to lunch or extending any of the usual hospitalities of life.
Don't let them put you off with 'No reply. It's Harkings, and they are expecting me to ring them. I shall be in the writing room." When, twenty minutes later, Mr. Jeekes emerged from the trunk call telephone box in the club vestibule, his mouth was drooping at the corners and his hands trembled curiously.
Jeekes as he put the question which did not in the least, as he undoubtedly intended it should, disguise his eagerness. On the contrary, it lent his rather undistinguished features an expression of cunning which can only be described as knavish. Bruce Wright, who, as will already have been seen, was a young man with all his wits about him, did not fail to remark it.
Now the sight of Jeekes had put a great idea into the head of our young friend. He had been more chagrined than he had let it appear to Robin Greve at his failure to recover the missing letter from the library at Harkings.
I consequently assumed that you must have taken away the letter seen by Robin Greve ..." Mr. Jeekes drew in his breath with a sucking sound. It was a little trick of his when about to speak. "So you saw Miss Trevert at Harkings, eh?" Bruce laughed. "I did," he said. "We had quite a dramatic meeting, too it was like a scene from a film!" And, with a little good-humoured exaggeration, he gave Mr.
We must get away from here quick!" He was at the bonnet cranking up the car. But the engine, chilled by the cold air, refused to start. As he was straining at the handle, a man dashed suddenly into the yard by the office door. It was Jeekes. The little secretary was a changed man. He still wore his pince-nez. But his mild air had utterly forsaken him.
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