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Updated: May 24, 2025
It contained, of course, no allusion to Senator Meiklejohn's singular connection with the affair, but Clancy had taken care that a disturbing paragraph should appear with the rest of a lurid write-up. "Sinister rumors are current in clubland," read Winifred. "These warrant the belief that others beside the thugs in the boat are implicated in the tragedy.
"Faith, an' I did that same," muttered the patrolman, whose slow-moving wits could assimilate only one thing at a time. Clancy, afire with rage and a sense of inexplicable failure, realized that Meiklejohn's admission and its now compulsory explanation could wait a calmer moment. The club attendant, attracted by the hubbub, raced to the lawn, and the detective tackled him.
For once Senator Meiklejohn's scheming had brought him to the edge of the precipice. But the dangerous moment passed. Rex's mother was thinking of other and more immediate matters. Winifred stood silent, scared, with a foreboding of the meaning of this tremendous visit. "Now, I am come to have a quiet chat with you," said Mrs.
I tried to get you on the phone, but you were closed down, the exchange said, so Helen packed me off here when she was able to sit up and take nourishment. Gad! Even my wife seems to have missed me!" Many minutes elapsed before Senator Meiklejohn's benumbed brain could assimilate the facts of a truly extraordinary story.
At length they seemed to realise the situation, and, descending from the high ground, took up a position near Bedford Hill in General Meiklejohn's front, and opened a heavy fire at close range. But the troops were now deployed and able to bring their numbers to bear. Without wasting time in firing, they advanced with the bayonet.
Eating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those two daily telegrams from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, "No news," and haunted the bookbinder's, and Meiklejohn's door hoping to see some of the crew of Winifred's persecutors. At the bookbinder's he learned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did not appear in the lists of any denomination.
Moreover, the valet's protests had proved unavailing this time. The two heard his approaching footsteps. Meiklejohn's care-worn face turned almost green with fright, and even his hardier companion yielded to a sense of peril. He leaped up, moving catlike on his toes. "Where does that door lead to?" he hissed, pointing. "A bedroom. But I've given orders "
"Helen says I resemble you in everything but brain power, Senator. I'm a good-looker as a husband, but a poor mutt in Wall Street." They laughed at the conceit. The two men were curiously alike in face and figure, though a close observer like Clancy would have classed them as opposite as the poles in character and temperament. Meiklejohn's features were cast in the stronger mold.
She was too stunned to do other than sink into a chair. For a while she feared she was going to faint. With lack-lustre eyes she peered into a gulf of loneliness and despair. Then outraged nature came to her aid, and she burst into a storm of tears. Clancy forced Senator Meiklejohn's hand early in the fray.
"Tick, tick!" he said. "Eight fifteen. Nom d'un pipe, now I understand." For the first time the true explanation of Senator Meiklejohn's covert glance at the clock the previous morning had occurred to him. That wily gentleman wanted Winifred out of the house for her day's work before the police interviewed Rachel Craik. He had fought hard to gain even a few hours in the effort to hinder inquiry.
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