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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Veritable mysteries!" said Miss Penkridge, with a sniff. "The world's full of 'em! How many murders go undetected how many burglaries are never traced how many forgeries are done and never found out? Piles of 'em as the police could tell you. And talking about forgeries, what about old Barrett, who was the great man at Pumpney, when your mother and I were girls there?
Miss Penkridge dropped her knitting on her silk-gowned knees and stared at the leaping flames; her nephew, with an odd glance at her, rose from his easy-chair, picked up a pipe and began to fill it from a tobacco-jar on the mantelpiece. The clock had ticked several times before Miss Penkridge spoke. "Well!" she said, with the accompanying sigh which denotes complete content. "So he did it!
For instance, before reaching Penkridge we pass on the right hand, Moseley Court, where the ancestors of the proprietors, the Whitgreaves, concealed Charles II. after the Battle of Worcester, on the left, Wrottesley Hall, the seat of the scientific nobleman of that name, and Chellington Park, the residence of the ancient Roman Catholic family of the Giffords, where an avenue of oaks, the growth of centuries, with a magnificent domain stocked with deer and game, afford the admirers of English scenery delicious vistas of wood, water, and rich undulating pasture.
Cave handed the letter over, and once more it was passed from hand to hand: finally it fell into the hands of Miss Penkridge, who began to examine it with obvious curiosity. "Afraid there's nothing to be got out of that!" sighed Mr. Carless. "The rogues were cunning enough to typewrite the message if there'd been any handwriting, now, we might have had a chance!
Miss Penkridge called to him from the drawing-room as he was running upstairs; he turned into the room to find her in company with two ladies dismal, pathetic figures in very plain and obviously countrified garments, both in tears and evident great distress, who, as Viner walked in, rose from their chairs and gazed at him sadly and wistfully.
He'd only half a mile to walk, along a fairly frequented road, but complete, absolute, final disappearance! And never cleared up!" "Odd!" agreed Viner. "Very odd, indeed. Well any more?" "Plenty!" said Miss Penkridge, with a click of her needles. "There was the case of poor young Lady Marshflower as sweet a young thing as man could wish to see!
"When I was round there, at Number Seven, this morning," observed Miss Penkridge, "those two talked very freely to me about Mr. Ashton. Now, there's one thing struck me at once there must be men in London who knew him. He couldn't go out and about, as he evidently did, without meeting men. Even if it wasn't in business, he'd meet men somewhere.
Mr Percival, having been detained, had not yet come in; but Henderson, Kenrick, and Power, who had also been asked to tea, were there waiting for him when Walter arrived, and Henderson, as usual, amusing the others and himself with a flood of mimicry and nonsense. "You know that mischievous little Penkridge," said Kenrick; "he nearly had an accident this morning.
You say there was nothing on the envelope but your name, Mr. Cave?" Mr. Cave opened his pocketbook again. "There is the envelope," he said. "Nothing but Mr. Cave, as you see that is also typewritten." Miss Penkridge picked up the envelope as Mr. Cave tossed it across the table. She appeared to examine it carefully, but suddenly she turned to Mr. Carless.
Now I must get back to my office come there at half-past eleven tomorrow morning, Viner, and we'll go on to Carless and Driver's." Viner went thoughtfully homeward, ruminating over the events of the day, and entered his house to find his two guests, the sisters of the unlucky Hyde, in floods of tears, and Miss Penkridge looking unusually grave.
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