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Updated: July 11, 2025
She laughed, leaned forward and placed her hands on my shoulders. My hands found her waist and I lifted her gently, gracefully to the floor. "How strong you are!" she said admiringly. "How do you do, Mr. Poopendyke! Dear me! I am not a ghost, sir!" His fingers dropped to the keyboard. "How do you do," he jerked out. Then he felt of his heart. "My God! I don't believe it's going."
"Oh oh, yes, yes. Ha, ha! the elephant." Good Heavens, had that idiotic Poopendyke started a menagerie in my castle? I was vastly relieved to find that the elephant was made of felt and not too large to keep Rosemary from wielding it skilfully in an assault upon the hapless Jinko. She had it firmly gripped by the proboscis, and she was shrieking with delight.
"Thank you," she said. "Oh, did it prick you?" "Yes," said I flatly. Then we both gave the closest attention to the end of my thumb while I triumphantly squeezed a tiny drop of blood out of it. I sucked it. The incident was closed. She was no longer interested in the laceration. "Mr. Poopendyke knew how lonely I would be. He telephoned twice a day."
You'd thing Sherlock Holmes himself was at the door," she cried. "See who it is, please." I went to the door. Poopendyke was there. He was visibly excited. "Can you come down at once, Mr. Smart?" he said in a voice not meant to reach the ears of the Countess. "What's up?" I questioned sharply. "The jig, I'm afraid," he whispered sententiously. Poopendyke, being a stenographer, never wasted words.
I would have included a request for a competent nurse-maid if it hadn't been for a report from Poopendyke, who announced that he had caught a glimpse of a very nursy looking person at one of the upper windows earlier in the day.
You'll win or my name isn't " "Fred Poopendyke, you haven't a grain of sense," I broke in sharply. "Do you suppose, just to oblige you, I'll get myself mixed up in this wretched squabble? Why, she's not really clear of the fellow yet. She's got a good many months to wait before the matter of the child and the final decree " "Isn't she worth waiting a year for or ten years?
She smiled. "Are you hungry?" "Delightfully," said I. We sat down at the table. "Now tell me everything all over again," she said. Mr. Poopendyke began to develop a streak of romantic invention in fact, tomfoolery A day or two after my experience with Count Tarnowsy in the Rempf Hotel. He is the last person in the world of whom I or any one else would suspect silliness of a radical nature.
Ten minutes later I was sneaking up the interminable stairways in the sepulchral east wing, lighting and relighting a tallow candle with grim patience at every other landing and luridly berating the drafts that swept the passages. Mr. Poopendyke stood guard below at the padlocked doors, holding the keys.
I was restless, dissatisfied, homesick. On the ninth day I sent Poopendyke to the booking office of the steamship company with instructions to secure passage for the next sailing of the Mauretania, and then lived in a state of positive dread for fear the confounded American tourists might have gobbled up all of the cabins.
You heartless rascal! What do you mean by that?" "I beg pardon, sir. I mean to say, he could sit in the boat 'ouse and twiddle 'is thumbs at the elements, sir. Trust Mr. Poopendyke to keep out of the rain." "In any event, he is still waiting there for us, wet or dry. He and the two big Schmicks." I took a moment for thought.
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