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Now, in an Arab tribe, when the Sheykh dies, the elders of the tribe, heads of its great houses and sections, assemble in one of their number's tent and, sitting in a circle, discuss the subject of his succession.
"Hands up, Macdougal. Your number's up. Better take it quietly." The handcuffs were upon him before he could move. He was trying to speak, but the words somehow choked in his mouth. "You can send a wireless to Lord Ashleigh," Quest continued, turning to French. "Tell him that the diamonds have been recovered and that his daughter's murderer is arrested."
The application was dated 4 June 3867, and a stamped notation on the margin declared that Free Status had been granted on 11 June 3867. "So he did register," Alan said. "But now what? How do we find him?" Hawkes reached for the photostat. "Here. Let me look at that." He squinted to make out the small print, then nodded and wrote down something. "His televector number's a local one.
To the dear child who put bug and needle into your hand because she knew it was good work and trusted your hand to do it. And more than all, to that other Me you're finding your own true self, John Flint! Hold fast, hold fast!" He stopped and stared at me. "I'm believing him again!" said he, grievously. "I've been sat on while I was hot, and my number's marked on me, 23.
The third time's yer last, yer know. Fritz'll send one over with me number on it, that's a bloody cert!" "If yer number's up it's up," said the other, who had a big patch over his right ear. "If yer've got ter die yer've got ter die, an' it's no use worryin' about it." Their turn came before long and I helped each one to get on to a table.
Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but his face was evil as he spoke. "I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to say the word, Okewood, and your number's up!
He was now strolling down the aisle with his hands in his pockets as if the place belonged to him. An air of respectful attention seemed to pervade the building. "Pop," said the stripling, "that number's no good." Old Blumenfield beamed over his shoulder. "Don't you like it, darling?" "It gives me a pain." "You're dead right." "You want something zippy there. Something with a bit of jazz to it!"
"My number's up," he whispered, and the game smile which twisted his white lips was pitiful. "Nonsense." Seymour's gruff tone concealed emotion. Hargraves' face betrayed death's indelible sign. "You'll pull through, once you're back at the hospital." Hargraves shook his head; he realized the futility of argument. "Have you pencil and paper?" he asked. "Yes."
Overhead on deck the twelve-pounders were barking out a series of ear-splitting reports much as a terrier might yap defiance at a cobra over the stricken body of its master. "I think our number's up, old thing." Thorogood bent and slipped his arms under the surgeon's body. "Shove your arms round my neck. . . . Steady! hurt you? Heave! Up we go!"
'How much? demanded the stranger. 'The bedrooms are twenty-five shillings, and the sitting-room two guineas. 'I guess Mr. Pank won't mind that. Hullo, Pank, you're here! I'm through. Your number's 102 or 120, which you fancy. Just going to the 'phone a minute, and then I'll join you upstairs. Mr. Pank was a younger man, possessing a thin, astute, intellectual face.
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