United States or Mozambique ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The revelations of Horace in regard to Marcia and the photographs had, to his own horror, occasioned no surprise in him, and the rest of Penfield's news had sunk into insignificance beside this confirmation of his suspicions which lay like lead on his heart and which he had refused to confess even to himself.
He turned his head lazily when Hayden opened the door, and Robert in his indignation felt a faint chill of apprehension as he met that glance. Penfield's eyes had lost their usual saurian impassiveness. They were almost alive, with that expression of interest which only the lapses and moral divagations of others could arouse in them.
One last word Doctor Penfield's rulings will be the products of his own well-ordered mind after consultation and agreement with the Council of this city, and will be for the best good of all. I do not anticipate any refusal to cooperate with him.
"Would it have been easy for any one to gain admittance through the window without attracting attention in the street?" was Penfield's next question. "Yes." "Miss McIntyre," Penfield rose, "I have only a few more questions to put to you. Why did Mr. Turnbull come to your house a house where he was a welcome visitor in the middle of the night disguised as a burglar?"
But I wonder if you could understand if I say that it will make it a thousand times harder for me?" "I can understand when I'm told," she retorted. The table-for-eight was no place for confidences; and Ford knew Penfield's weakness for soaking up information. Yet he took the risk.
He knew the game you had planned to play, and though he was your brother-in-law, he was man enough to stop it." Mr. Penfield's voice had risen, so that it rang through the room, and his words followed each other in cold indictment. The others stood watching my father with strained attention. "Indeed," he said. "Yes," said Mr. Penfield, "as you so aptly put it indeed.
For out of the quiet and shadowy south side of the street, where it had been silently patrolling under lowered speed, swerved and darted a wine-colored, surrey-built touring car with a cape top. Durkin recognized it at a glance; it was Penfield's huge machine. Its movement, as it swung in toward the startled woman, seemed like the swoop of a hawk.
Frances Durkin was neither protesting nor struggling when he drew up in front of what she knew to be Penfield's lower gambling club. It stood in that half-squalidly residential and half-heartedly commercial district, lying south of Washington Square, a little to the west of Broadway's great artery of traffic.
The next instant Stone was excused, and after a slight pause the deputy coroner, Dr. Mayo, left his table and his notes and occupied the witness chair, after first being sworn. The preliminaries did not consume much time, and Penfield's manner was brisk as he addressed his assistant. "Did you make a post-mortem examination of Turnbull?" he asked.
With consternation P. Sybarite investigated the vacant loop at his side. "Must've dropped out while I was shinning over the back fence," he surmised vaguely. "However, I shan't need it. This" with a bright and confident smile displaying Penfield's revolver "will do just as well better, in fact." "That?" she questioned. "That's not a Police Department gun. Where'd you " "Oh, yes, it is.
Word Of The Day