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Updated: April 30, 2025
He left the room, closing the door behind him, and for a moment I lay there with an uncomfortable sense of being tangled up in some exceedingly mysterious adventure. Even such unusual people as Dr. McMurtrie and his friends do not as a rule take in and shelter escaped convicts purely out of kindness of heart.
There is an excellent golf course on the Scarborough Bluffs, the rugged, seamed, and fissured cliffs that form the northern shore of Lake Ontario, near Toronto. Boarding a trolley-car, Mr. McMurtrie soon reached the club-house, where he found his friend Harry Cleave already awaiting him. "Hullo, Mac. Day's work done?" was Mr. Cleave's salutation. "Indeed it is.
In short, we do not believe a word of it, and our speculation at the moment is, what brand of soap or tinned meat, what new machine oil, or panacea for human ills, these ingeniously arranged manifestations are intended to boom. "What do you think of that, Davis?" asked Mr. McMurtrie at the end of six minutes' rapid dictation.
I stared at her for a second, and then suddenly the real truth dawned on me. "So George sold them to you?" I said. She nodded. "Ever since you went to prison the business has been going to pieces. He wanted money badly very badly indeed. Dr. McMurtrie found this out. He found out too that there was a copy of the plans in the office, and well, you can guess the rest.
"I daren't leave the hut for long, in case McMurtrie turns up." We went outside and had a good look round. Sonia had long since disappeared, and the place wore its usual aspect of utter desolation. I took the precaution of locking the door, however, and then at a sharp pace we set off together across the marsh. "Tell me about George," I said. "How are you getting on with the elopement plan?"
Three-quarters of an hour passed, and I was just beginning to think that McMurtrie would be the winner after all, when I suddenly caught sight of something dark slinking across the exposed part of the road beyond the plantation. Standing very still, I watched carefully from the window.
I could hardly doubt now that she loved me with all the force of her strange, sullen, passionate nature, and that for my sake she was preparing to take some pretty reckless step. What this was remained to be seen, but that it amounted to a practical betrayal of her father and McMurtrie seemed fairly obvious from the way in which she had spoken.
McMurtrie made a graceful gesture towards me with his hand. "Allow me," he said, "to introduce you. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Savaroff our distinguished and much-sought-after friend Mr. Neil Lyndon." The big man gave a violent start, and with a little exclamation the girl stepped forward, turning back her veil.
If I declined their offer and refused to let McMurtrie carve my face about, they had only to turn me out, and in a few hours I should probably be back in my cell with the cheerful prospect of chains, a flogging, and six months' semi-starvation in front of me. Anything was better than that even the wildest of plunges in the dark.
McMurtrie dropped the syringe at once, and taking the skin between his fingers began to pinch and mould it with swift, deft touches into the required shape. I lay as motionless as possible, hoping that things were prospering. It seemed to me a long time before the job was finished, though I daresay it was in reality only a matter of forty-five seconds.
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