Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 11, 2025
Pete Jeffers shifted slightly in his seat. "You were sayin', suh, that this's the stupidest dam' assignment anybody evah got. Or words to that effect." Jeffers had been born in Georgia and had moved to the south of England at the age of ten. Consequently, his accent was far from standard.
So down the ladder they went. Mike hoped there'd be no fighting at all. He had the feeling that everything was all wrong, somehow, and that any use of stun guns or spanners would just make everything worse. His wasn't the only group looking for Snookums and Mellon. Lieutenant Keku had another group, and Commander Jeffers had a third.
Their letters left an impression that it was so. Jeffers obviously did. And Tara ? Her belated letter, from the wilds of Serbia, had revealed, in every line, that she understood only too well. For Tara, not long before, had passed through her own ordeal the death, in a brilliant air fight, of her second brother Atholl, her devotee and hero from nursery days.
"G'night, Chief," said Mike the Angel. "Night, sir," said Multhaus. "See you in the morning." "Yeah. Night." Mike trudged toward the companionway that led toward the wardroom. If Keku or Jeffers happened to be there, he'd have a quick round of Uma ni to.
Gabe Foley had paused in his manipulation of a king to hurl a question at the Greenvale men. "Is it true that old man Strong is to be turned out next week?" "True enough," answered William Jeffers. "Joe Moore is going to foreclose. Stephen Strong has got three years behind with the interest and Moore is out of patience. It seems hard on old Stephen, but Moore ain't the man to hesitate for that.
Torches moved to and fro on the river bank, their red tongues of flame blown by the wind amid clouds of smoke. In the uncertain light he could at last distinguish figures rushing about, others leaning over the river, black as well. This explained everything: the lamps had not moved, but he had been misled by the flitting torches. "Let us fetch Dolf Jeffers," cried two men.
"Me," said Mike the Angel. Mike told Captain Quill what had happened as they made their way back up to the bridge. Ensign Vaneski, looking pale and worried, met them at the door. He snapped a salute. "I just reported to Commander Jeffers, sir. Something's wrong with the low-power circuits." "I had surmised as much," said Black Bart caustically. "Anything new? What did you find out? What happened?"
In the dimness it was easier, though difficult at best. But all day he had been aware of Tara longing to hear; unable to ask; too sensitive on his account; too proud on her own. Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event: and if Sir James had needed 'squaring' no one heard of it. Jeffers had arrived, large and genial his thatch of hair thinned a little and white as driven snow.
He had everyone's eyes on him now. They didn't want to look at each other. Pete Jeffers said: "Mike, if Mellon was poisoned, like you say, how come he was able to attack Mister Vaneski?" "Ah, but did he? Think back, Pete. Mellon dying or already dead had been propped upright in that narrow locker.
I paid no attention to him, however, when Jeffers pulled out $200, played it, and won. Then, turning to my friend, he said, "Take $200, play it for me, and I'll pay you for your trouble." He did so, and won. I laughed, and let the old fellow know that I didn't think he had pluck enough to bet at any game. "Oh, I would bet if the money I have was my own."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking