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Updated: June 25, 2025
She ran on about Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing about it. "Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly. "My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him.
"Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot her yet!" "And if we have?" asked the Chief. Desmond sprang tip. "It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a principal! Chief..." "What if we have?" asked the Chief again. A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not a principal in this affair but a victim!" "You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said mockingly. Desmond went rather white.
The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed. "I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew grave and he added: "Your last question answers all the others!" "Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond. The Chief nodded. "Nur-el-Din," he repeated. Nur-el-Din in the center, the kernel, the hub of everything!" The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair closer.
She wore it very often to the office. Look at the blood on it!" He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where Nur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her breast. Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
You don't surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled "my father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing to me!" Marie laughed cynically. "Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at nothing! But tiens, here is Madame!" Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand.
You have only to ask this Miss what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!" "No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand. This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered him to get my silver box." "But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling object like that?
What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he said gently: "Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you? Is it the police?" She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt. "Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has fallen into the hands of that gang!" Desmond remained silent for a moment.
"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?" Barbara shook her head. "I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!" Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together. "It was he, himself, then," she whispered, "I might have known.
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