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Updated: June 4, 2025
The thermal waters of Buxton have been celebrated from the time of the Romans. The town is situated in a deep basin, surrounded by bleak hills and barren moors, in strong contrast to the verdant valley in which the village of Matlock lies. The only entrance to and exit from this basin is by a narrow ravine, through which the river Wye flows on its way to join the Derwent toward Bakewell.
They were running full speed toward the burning stacks and Ken chose to waste no breath in speculative reply. But he was seeing a different red than that of the flaming hay as he recalled Williams's warning: "Look out fer Matlock. He's a pizen skunk and he'll stoop to anythin' ter play even."
There was no use arguing and Adam Adams did not attempt it. Indeed, he was rather curious to see what the fellow would do next. Matlock Styles entered the old mill and then descended a flight of stone steps. Below was a sort of cellar, damp and musty. Crossing the cellar the Englishman opened an iron door in a brick wall and literally threw Adam Adams into the inky darkness beyond.
"Tell me at once, did Matlock Styles say anything about poisoning this young lady?" he demanded, catching the old woman by the arm. "The truth now, remember!" "No, he didn't say anything. But he had some poison, a powder you put it in water. It kills a person in six to ten hours, sure." "We must have a doctor!" Tom Ostrello had heard the talk and saw what had happened.
Here the detective was tied fast to a ring in the wall and the two men sat down on a bench to guard him, lighting pipes and smoking in the meanwhile. "Are you going to keep me blindfolded?" asked the detective. "We are," was the surly response. "For how long?" "Until we get orders to do otherwise." "Matlock Styles is your master, is he?" "He is our chief.
"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the Poet. "You all of you look " "Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this matter over quietly." Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down. "You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode. You are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?" "Sure!" retorted the Poet.
"Don't you dare to stir, you bloody rascal!" went on Matlock Styles to the detective. "Why, what's the matter now?" queried Adam Adams. The turn of affairs puzzled him not a little. "You'll soon see what's the matter," said the man called Bart. "I must say I don't understand you." "Maybe you'll understand when you are a prisoner," put in Matlock Styles. "A prisoner? What for?"
He went to see Matlock Styles and Styles threatened him with something again and Ostrello was greatly disturbed. After that Ostrello sent a money-order to his brother Dick for fifty dollars. He is now going to New York again and I shall follow." This communication set Adam Adams to thinking once more. That Tom Ostrello and Matlock Styles had something in common there could be no doubt.
They have sworn the death of yourself and friend: his because he stands between them and their thefts and has brought to black shame the man Matlock; yours because you did slay the jackal of my husband. Do you know that in the hands of the sheriff there is a warrant for the arrest of you both, sworn out by my husband, charging you with murder, and the Señor Douglass with being accessory thereto?
For awhile they smoked in silence, then Carter turned abruptly. "Will you manage the C Bar for me?" Douglass puffed meditatively for a moment. A thunderbolt from the clear blue above would have surprised him less, but no stoic ever bore a face more immobile than that which he turned toward the owner of the biggest ranch on the Western Slope. "How about Matlock?"
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