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Updated: May 16, 2025
"I'll give you an order to sell out at once, and I'll fill up this application for three hundred shares why not three hundred? I may as well go as many as you do. If it's really such a good thing as you say, why shouldn't I profit by it? Send this to Klink to-morrow early; strike while the iron's hot, and get the thing finished." Nevitt looked at the paper with an attentive eye.
"There has been too much of this carrying back and forth," declared the sergeant. "It is time there was a sterner hand at the helm, and not so much pleasuring." There were reasons why Captain Nevitt said nothing to his little sister about the matter, and she was strictly forbidden to suggest it.
The word's fell upon Guy's ears with all the suddenness and crushing force of an unexpected thunderbolt. "Wilful murder," he cried, taken aback by the charge. "Wilful murder of Montague Nevitt at Mambury! Oh no, you can't mean that! Montague Nevitt dead! Montague Nevitt murdered! And at Mambury, too! There MUST be some mistake somewhere."
He had clutched Nevitt by the throat, half unconsciously, with all his might, just to give him a purchase as he flung the man from him. He looked at him again. Great heavens what was this? It burst over him at once. He awoke to it with a wild start. The fellow was dead! And this was clearly manslaughter! Justifiable homicide, if the jury knew all. But no jury now could ever know all.
R. B. Nevitt, Assistant Surgeon; W. G. Griffiths, Paymaster; G. Dalrymple Clark, Adjutant; John L. Poett, Veterinary Surgeon; Charles Nicolle, Quarter Master. Division "A": W. D. Jarvis, Inspector; Severe Gagnon, Sub-Inspector. Division "B": G. A. Brisebois, Inspector; J. B. Allan, Sub-Inspector. Division "C": W. Winder, Inspector; T. R. Jackson, Sub-Inspector.
Guy Waring as to whose guilt or innocence he would make no definite assertion was prowling round Dartmoor on the trail of McGregor, alias Montague Nevitt. Therefore, they would consent to an indefinite remand till evidence to that effect was duly forthcoming.
Elma looked up at him with another of her sudden flashes of superb intuition. "He CAN'T have seen it in the papers," she said. "That gives us some clue. If he'd seen it, he MUST have come forward to help you. But, Cyril, MY faith never falters at all. And I tell you why. Not only do I know Guy didn't do it, but I know who did it. The man who murdered Montague Nevitt is why shouldn't I tell you?
A mob of excited people marked its site by loitering about the door. Two policemen held off the angrier spirits among the shareholders. But, nothing daunted by the press, Guy forced his way in and looked around the room trembling, for Montague Nevitt. Too late! Too late! Nevitt wasn't there. The unhappy dupe turned to the clerk in charge. "Has Mr.
"Are you a shareholder?" he asked, with one eye on the policeman. "What do you want to know for?" "Yes, I'm a shareholder, unfortunately," Guy answered, still in a maze. "I hold three hundred original shares. My name's Guy Waring. You've got me on your books. Mr. Nevitt has paid three thousand in Mr. Whitley's name, and three thousand for me. That was our arrangement."
"I should say about twenty." "And rich beyond the utmost dreams of avarice?" Montague Nevitt put in, with a faintly cynical smile. "Well, I don't know about that," Cyril answered truthfully. "I haven't the least idea who she is, even.
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