United States or Slovakia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
To hear this Cacafogo and Thumpenstrumpff, a hundred people are gathered together a bevy of dowagers, stout or scraggy; a faint sprinkling of misses; six moody-looking lords, perfectly meek and solemn; wonderful foreign Counts, with bushy whiskers and yellow faces, and a great deal of dubious jewellery; young dandies with slim waists and open necks, and self-satisfied simpers, and flowers in their buttons; the old, stiff, stout, bald-headed CONVERSAZIONE ROUES, whom You meet everywhere who never miss a night of this delicious enjoyment; the three last-caught lions of the season Higgs, the traveller, Biggs, the novelist, and Toffey, who has come out so on the sugar question; Captain Flash, who is invited on account of his pretty wife and Lord Ogleby, who goes wherever she goes.
Ogleby was of the tall, sloping-shouldered variety, whom one can see on the Avenue and in the clubs and hotels in such numbers that it almost seems that there must be an establishment for turning them out, even down to a trademark concealed somewhere about them, "Made in England."
Monday came, also, the last day before the election, with its lull in the heart-breaking activities of the campaign. There were still no pictures published, but Kennedy was working in the laboratory over a peculiar piece of apparatus. "I've been helping out my own shadows," was all the explanation he vouchsafed of his disappearances, as he continued to work. "Watching Mrs. Ogleby?" I hinted.
"In what shape is the record, do you suppose?" he asked merely. "I gathered from Mrs. Ogleby," returned Carton watchfully, "that it had been taken down by a stenographer at the receiving end of the detectaphone, transcribed in typewriting, and loosely bound in a book of limp black leather.
Carton did not appreciate the tenor of the remark and Craig was not disposed to enlighten him. "What do you suppose Mrs. Ogleby meant in her references to Carton?" mused Kennedy when we reached our own apartment. "I can't say," I replied, "unless before he came to really know Miss Ashton, they were intimate." Kennedy shook his head.
You forgot everything, all honour and manhood in your panic; you were ready to consent, to urge any course that would relieve you and you have taken the course that involves you worse than any other." "Who will believe a story like that?" demanded Ogleby. "What are you according to your own confession? Am I to be charged with everything this gang, as you call it, does?
They could not conquer her neither by drugs nor drink, nor by clothes, nor a good time, nor force. I saw it all in the Montmartre and the beauty parlour all." "Lies all lies," hissed Ogleby, beside himself with anger. "No, no," cried Sybil. "I do not lie. Mr.
You reaped the profits through your dirty agent, Ike the Dropper, and those over him, even the police you controlled. Dr. Harris, Marie Margot, all are your tools and the worst of them all is this man Martin Ogleby!" Dorgan's face was livid.
"Come, Ogleby," interposed Dorgan, deliberately turning his back on her and slowly placing his hat on his half-bald head. "We are indebted to Professor Kennedy for a pleasant entertainment. When he has another show equally original we trust he will not forget the first-nighters who have enjoyed this farce." Dorgan had reached the door and had his hand on the knob. I had expected Kennedy to reply.
"A clerk in the employ of the organization who is really a detective employed by the Reform League," groaned Carton, as he told us the story himself the next morning at his office, "has just given us the information that they have prepared a long and circumstantial story about me about my intimacy with Mrs. Ogleby and Murtha and some others.
Word Of The Day