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Updated: May 12, 2025
Andie Lauriston's not going to show the least fear of the police, or of any of their theories. He's just going to follow my orders and I'm going to take him to my hotel for the night leave him to me! I'm going to see this thing right through to the finish however it ends. Now, let's separate. Mr. Guyler!" "Sir?" answered the American. "At your service."
Melky knew police ways and methods, and he felt sure that whatever Ayscough, a good-natured man, might think, the superior authorities would view Lauriston's presence in the pawnshop with strong suspicion. Therefore the real culprit must be found. And he, Melky Rubinstein he must have a go at that game.
They willingly agreed to move no further in the matter until Lauriston's return and Purdie noticed, not without a smile, that they pointedly refrained from asking where he had gone to. He came out from that interview with Ayscough in attendance upon him and Melky, waiting without, saw that things had gone all right. "You might let me have your London address, sir," said Ayscough.
"Got any instructions about Mr. Lauriston?" asked the official. "You haven't? Mr. Lauriston's free to go where he likes, then, as far as we're concerned, here," he added, turning to Purdie. "But he'd far better stay at hand till all this is cleared up." "That's our intention," said Purdie. "Whenever you want Mr. Lauriston, come to me at my hotel he's my guest there, and I'll produce him.
Certainly, within the last half-hour, life had taken on a roseate tinge all due to a visit to the pawnshop. Hurrying back along Praed Street, Lauriston's steps were suddenly arrested. He found himself unconsciously hurrying by an old-fashioned eating-house, from whence came an appetizing odour of cooking food. He remembered then that he had eaten nothing for four-and-twenty hours.
"And they are all old?" "They are all of old-fashioned workmanship," said Zillah. "Made a good many years ago, all of them. The diamonds, or pearls, are all right, of course." Mr. Parminter handed over the half-sheet of paper on which Lauriston's rings had been exhibited to the Coroner and the jurymen. "Look at those rings, if you please," he said quietly.
Andrew Lauriston. Did you read his name in the paper's account of that inquest?" The American glanced at Lauriston with some curiosity. "Sure!" he answered. "The man that found the old gentleman dead." "Just so," said Zillah. "There are two friends of ours making enquiries on Mr. Lauriston's behalf at this moment. One of them's my cousin, Mr. Rubinstein; the other's Mr.
Zillah had listened to Lauriston's answers to Mr. Parminter's searching questions with an anxiety which was obvious to those who sat near her. The signs of that anxiety were redoubled as she walked slowly to the box, and the glance she threw at the Coroner was almost appealing. But the Coroner was looking at his notes, and Zillah was obliged to turn to Mr.
But Ayscough gave little, if any, attention to the book: his eyes were fixed on the rings in the tray and he glanced from them to Lauriston's rings. "Um!" he said presently. "Odd that you have a couple of rings, young man, just like those! Isn't it?" "What do you mean?" demanded Lauriston, flushing scarlet. "You don't suggest " "Don't suggest anything just now," answered the detective, quietly.
"S'elp me! one of ourselves!" whispered Melky Rubinstein at Lauriston's elbow. "Twig him!" Lauriston was quick enough of comprehension and observation to know what Melky meant. Mr. Spencer Levendale was certainly a Jew. His dark hair and beard, his large dark eyes, the olive tint of his complexion, the lines of his nose and lips all betrayed his Semitic origin.
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