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Updated: June 4, 2025
Cortelyon for some time, and he'd no doubt that the paper and envelope described by Miss Penkridge was some which he'd specially secured for the Doctor. But he told something far more important: Six months ago Cortelyon went to Bigglesforth and asked him if he could get him a good second-hand typewriter.
The assembly broke up, and Viner was left alone with Miss Penkridge. "That was clever of you!" he said, admiringly. "I should never have noticed that. But there are a lot of typewriting machines in London!" "Not so many owned by customers of Bigglesforth's!" retorted Miss Penkridge. "I'd work it out, if I were a detective!" The parlour-maid looked in and attracted Viner's attention. "Mr.
"I tell you that not only was the man never caught, but that although Sir Thomas spent a fortune and nearly lost his senses in trying to find out who he was, what he wanted and what he had to do with Lady Marshflower, he never discovered one single fact!" affirmed Miss Penkridge. "There!" "That's queerer than the other," observed Viner. "A veritable mystery!"
Miss Penkridge, fetched into the room and duly introduced, lost no time in making a suggestion of an eminently practical nature that as all these gentlemen had been cooped up in that stuffy police-court for two or three hours, they would be none the worse for a glass of wine, and she immediately disappeared, jingling a bunch of keys, to reappear a few minutes later in charge of the parlour-maid carrying decanters and glasses.
The old solicitor went away, promising to get to work on the lines suggested by Miss Penkridge, and next day he telephoned to Viner asking him to go down to his offices in Bedford Row. Viner hurried off, and on arriving found Mr. Pawle with a cablegram before him. "I sent a pretty long message to Melbourne, to Ashton's old bankers, as soon as I left you yesterday," he said.
Taking the fact that this half-sheet of notepaper came from Bigglesforth's, of Craven Hill," concluded Miss Penkridge with emphasis, "I should say that this document so important came from somebody who doesn't live a million miles from here!" Mr. Carless had followed Miss Penkridge with admiring attention, and he now rose to his feet. "Ma'am," he exclaimed, "Mr.
"I should like to add my small quota," said Lord Ellingham. Viner led the way into his house and to the drawing-room. Miss Penkridge, in her best cap, was calmly dispensing tea to the two Hyde sisters, who were regarding her with obvious admiration. She looked round on her nephew and the flood of callers as if to ask what most of them were doing there.
And I I've been pitchforked thrown clean into the middle of things! Miss Penkridge came closer to him, staring. She looked from him to the glass, from the glass to him. "No I haven't been drinking," said Viner with a harsh laugh. "I'm drinking now, and I'm going to have another, too. Listen!" He pushed her gently into a chair, and seating himself on the edge of the table, told her the adventure.
The real thing to do, if you're to save him, is to find the real murderer. And to do that, you'll need all your wits! If one only had some theory!" Viner introduced Mr. Pawle to Miss Penkridge with the remark that she was something of an authority in mysteries, and as soon as they had sat down to lunch, told her of Langton Hyde and his statement. "Just so!" said Miss Penkridge dryly.
I never had a novel yet, nor heard one read to me, that was half as strong as it might have been!" "Queer thing, one never hears or sees of these things, then!" exclaimed Viner. "I never have! and I've been on this planet thirty years." "That sort of thing hasn't come your way, Richard," remarked Miss Penkridge sententiously. "And you don't read the popular Sunday newspapers. I do!
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