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Sonnino himself was a crafty little man, but craftiness, if it did not transgress the law, was not a crime; he was undoubtedly a usurer in his petty way, and he was both feared and disliked, but beyond that no one pretended to know anything about him. Ordinarily, Sonnino's safe, then, might be expected to be rather a barren affair, hardly a lure for a Gentleman Laroque brand of crook!
You're in it yourselves" he pointed his finger wildly at one and then the other of the two men "you you!" "Think so?" drawled Laroque. "All right, you tell 'em so tell the jury about it, tell your father, who is such a shark on evidence, about it. Sure, I'm in on it with you but you don't know who I am. They'll have a hot time finding J. Barca, Esquire!
On Passion Sunday, 1401, the townsfolk and the occupants of the castle were gathered in the church, when a cry was raised that the enemy had swarmed over the walls and were in the town. Adhemar de Laroque was the seigneur at the time. He hastened from the church, but already the street was full of English, and escape to his castle was cut off, as they had secured the stair.
Jimmie Dale's lips were mercilessly thin; a fury, not the white, impetuous heat of passion, but a fury that was cold, deadly, implacable, possessed his soul. He crept nearer still nearer. "The crowd that put this up says we keep it between us for our work," said Laroque shortly. "A third for you, the rest for me. You sure you put all they gave you in the safe Niccolo?"
He tells me that Laroque has died, and that Marguerite and her mother, who have been tending him night and day, have worn themselves out, and are now laid up with some sort of fever. Mlle. de Porhoet is also very ill, and not expected to live. Since I am well enough to walk over to Mlle. de Porhoet. I am told that she keeps asking to see me. V. Two in a Garden
On Sixth Avenue there is a little store where one rents boxes for private mail, and where questions are never asked is it not so, my very dear young friend?" The boy was staring in a demented way into Sonnino's face, but he did not speak. "Aw, hand it to him straight!" Gentleman Laroque broke in roughly. "I don't want to hang around here all night. Here, Archman, you listen to me!
I am afraid I forgot myself with Madame Laroque a fine-looking, cultivated woman of forty years of age. Flattered by the way in which she treated me entirely as her equal, I insensibly glided from theatrical topics to fashionable gossip, and just stopped in time in an anecdote about my tour in Russia.
"... They are playing their last card to-night ... David Archman ... it is murder, Jimmie ... letter signed J. Barca ... Sixth Avenue stationer ... Martin Moore ... Gentleman Laroque, the gangster ... Niccolo Sonnino ... end house to left of courtyard entrance ... safe in rear room ... lives alone ... tonight ..."
Sonnino recognises you. The letter is identified at the Sixth Avenue place, and you are identified as the guy that's been travelling under the name of Martin Moore. J. Barca has flown the coop and can't be found, and well, I guess you get it, don't you?" "What what do you want?" The boy did not lift his head. "We want your father to let up, and let up damned quick," said Laroque evenly.
"Got 'em again!" Laroque snapped back. "You make me tired!" "Let's get out of here! Let's get out of here quick!" Clarie Archman's voice, not so low now, held a tone of frantic appeal. "Nix!" said Laroque, in a vicious sneer. "Not till the job's done! D'ye think I'm going to spend half an hour cracking a safe and take a chance of missing any bets?
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