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Updated: June 11, 2025
The girl would be found. Some miracle would happen. A reprieve would arrive. The sentence would be commuted. But the short day darkened into night even as Mortlake's short day was darkening. And the shadow of the gallows crept on and on, and seemed to mingle with the twilight. Crowl stood at the door of his shop, unable to work. His big grey eyes were heavy with unshed tears.
For an instant, even in the semi-darkness, Roy saw the other's face grow white as ashes. "He thinks that Lieut. Bradbury has caught my impersonator," was the thought that flashed through the boy's mind. But the same sudden radiance that had betrayed Mortlake's agitation also showed him that it was the real Roy Prescott he was facing.
Prisoner had never spoken to him much about her. He should not think she was much in prisoner's thoughts. Naturally the prisoner had been depressed by the death of his friend. Besides, he was overworked. Witness thought highly of Mortlake's character. It was incredible that Constant had had improper relations of any kind with his friend's promised wife.
"Thank you, Jimsy," said Peggy, winking to keep back the tears that would come, "we we I that is " "We'll beat them out yet. The bunch of sneaks, and it's my opinion that Mortlake himself knows all about who robbed that safe!" cried Jimsy, not taking the trouble to sink his voice. He faced defiantly about and caught Mortlake's eye.
"Yes; how did you get it? It's the key of my first-floor front. I am sure I left it sticking in the door." "Did you know a Miss Dymond?" "Yes, Mr. Mortlake's sweetheart. But I knew he would never marry her, poor thing." "Why not?" "He was getting too grand for her." "You don't mean anything more than that?" "I don't know; she only came to my place once or twice.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and the evident note of astonishment and appreciation in his tones did not tend to increase Mortlake's self-satisfaction. "The pesky brats," he muttered to himself; "we've got to do something to put them out of the race. There isn't another American-built aeroplane that I fear except that bothersome kids' machine."
Short, coarse, and utterly lacking in every element of refinement, Joey Eccles was a typical hobo. But Mortlake's shrewd mind had seen where he could make use of him, too, in the diabolical plan he was concocting, and the details of which he had just finished confiding to his unsavory lieutenants.
Mortlake, glancing back a short time before the sea appeared on the horizon, had seen the other aeroplane, and guessing at once what its appearance meant, had determined to keep on, even at the risk of plunging himself and his passenger into the sea. That was Mortlake's character; he was a man who could brook no rivalry.
"She was in Mortlake's car, you know," said Jimmy again, disjointedly. Sangster nodded. "He'll be shockingly cut-up," said Jimmy again. "I hated the chap; but he was really fond of her." "Yes." Jimmy's cigarette had gone out again, and he relit it absently. "Christine will never believe that it hasn't broken my heart," he said in a queer voice. No answer. "You won't believe it either?" he said.
The convivial chorus went to Mortlake's head, as if champagne had really preceded it. His eyes grew moist and dim. He saw himself swimming to the Millennium on waves of enthusiasm. Ah, how his brother toilers should be rewarded for their trust in him! With his usual courtesy and consideration, Mr. Gladstone had refused to perform the actual unveiling of Arthur Constant's portrait.
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