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Updated: May 7, 2025
Murch be not seen together in public until the meat was ready for the fire. And so it was the briefest of interviews that took place between them in the big smoking room. A few words, concluding with a handshake and a "Congratulate you, Mr. President," and the incident was closed.
So he hung on, hoping against hope for something almost anything to happen. To be sure his own comparative incompetence was to blame for the company's underwriting record, but that was a matter beyond his control. It was perhaps an hour after Mr. Wellwood's departure when the card of another caller was brought to Mr. Murch by the efficient office boy. "Show him in," he said.
O'Connor had the list in his hand. In his heart now was the calm absence of feeling which marks the man who has abandoned hope. "I should estimate our net liability in the burned district at about $700,000," he said unemotionally. Mr. Murch leaned forward in his chair. "And the net surplus of the company is ?" he asked menacingly. "You know what it is. It's half a million, roughly."
Trent had found himself on several occasions in the past thrown into the company of Inspector Murch, who stood high in the councils of the Criminal Investigation Department. He was a quiet, tactful and very shrewd officer, a man of great courage, with a vivid history in connection with the more dangerous class of criminals.
"It was fox pills!" I blurted out. "Willis Murch and Ad and I had a fox bed up there last winter. We never thought of it when the colts were put in. They ate the poison pills." The old Squire made no comment, and I plunged into further details. "That accounts for it, then," he said at last.
I would answer any questions he had the gumption to ask me I have done so, in fact but I don't feel encouraged to give him any notions of mine without his asking. See? Trent nodded. 'That is a feeling many people have in the presence of our police, he said. 'It's the official manner, I suppose. But let me tell you, Murch is anything but what you think.
If you will go up to the house and ask for Mr. Bunner, you'll find him expecting you; he will tell you all about things and show you round. He's the other secretary; an American, and the best of fellows; he'll look after you. There's a detective here, by the way Inspector Murch, from Scotland Yard. He came yesterday. 'Murch! Trent exclaimed. 'But he and I are old friends.
Either you've got something against her and you don't want me to get hold of it; or else you've made up your mind she's innocent, but have no objection to my wasting my time over her. Well, it's all in the game; which begins to look extremely interesting as we go on. To Mr. Murch he said aloud: 'Well, I'll draw the bedroom later on. What about this?
Trent, with his hands in his pockets and a slight frown on his brow, made no reply to this. "I tell you what," he said after a short pause, "I was just getting to the really interesting part of the job when you came in. Come: would you like to see a little bit of high-class police work? It's the very same kind of work that old Murch ought to be doing at this moment.
I would answer any questions he had the gumption to ask me I have done so, in fact but I don't feel encouraged to give him any notions of mine without his asking. See?" Trent nodded. "That is a feeling many people have in the presence of our police," he said. "It's the official manner, I suppose. But let me tell you Murch is anything but what you think.
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