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Updated: May 10, 2025
Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in a tone as cheerful as she could make it: "I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now." "Can and will," rejoined McVay beamingly. "Hen comes as he has always come to his friends, as a rescuer."
Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective's countenance. "Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney's bullet has entirely gone. I was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it would interest her." "Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody," said the girl politely and McVay, when he had sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a story himself.
He looked at her hopelessly and would perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not the least disconcerted, taken the lead. "This, Cecilia," he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective's shoulder, "is my old friend Picklebody, Henderson Picklebody. You have heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the old Machita days?"
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