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Updated: June 11, 2025
Well, he said, 'I'd like to talk to you, Mrs. Purdie. Fact! Of course she took it as a compliment, and was as pleased as could be. Well, I don't know how on earth he ever got through his introduction or how he ever reached the dining-room, for my inamorata was so pretty that I thought of nothing till we were seated, and the host took her attention for a moment.
It was Willie's turn to feel resentment. In the evening came a note from Christina, hurriedly written. She was terribly busy getting ready for the morning train. It was most kind of Mrs. Purdie. Her own uncle must have let drop to Mr. Purdie that a summer outing this year was not possible, and Mr. Purdie must have told Mrs.
The Inspector strode forward and tore the curtains aside. He flung open the first of the doors and started back, catching his breath. "Phew!" he said. The heavy, narcotic odour which Purdie had noticed at once on entering the rooms came afresh, out of the newly-opened door, in a thick wave. And as the rest of them crowded after the Inspector, they saw why.
Purdie was "fast" and had been rude to Mrs. Constantine. One day early in the spring Grace announced that Maggie ought not to go and see Mrs. Purdie any more. "There are all sorts of stories," said Grace. "People say Oh, well, never mind. They have dancing on Sunday." "But she's an old friend of mine," said Maggie. "You have others to think of beside yourself, Maggie," said Grace.
The detective, who had already had several long conversations with Purdie at headquarters during the previous afternoon and evening, and knew him for a well-to-do young gentleman who was anxious to clear his friend Lauriston of all suspicion, shook his head. He was a quiet, sagacious, middle-aged man who evidently thought deeply about whatever he had in hand. "It's difficult to say, Mr.
Tom Purdie, who had orders to repair the bridge long since, was so scandalised at the consequence of his negligence that the bridge is repaired by the time I am writing this. But how the noiseless step of Fate dogs us in our most seeming safe and innocent sports.
It is a pity she does not send him some small presents now and then. He is awful jealous of the chaps that get things from home; you can tell it by his face and the bad language he uses about the billet and the Zeppelins for 2 hours after. So just for fun, when I was writing to Uncle Purdie, I said please send the next parcel addressed to Pte. Wm. Thomson. Willie got it last night.
'I shall be in at eleven: don't go to bed, for I want to see you for a minute or two. Of course, there was nothing in that, Mr. Purdie, and I waited for him. But he never came home and no message came. He never came home at all and this morning I've telephoned to his two clubs, and to one or two other places in the City nobody's seen or heard anything of him.
An actual companion, whether humble or your equal, is still worse. But Tom Purdie is just the thing, kneaded up between the friend and servant, as well as Uncle Toby's bowling-green between sand and clay. You are certain he is proud as well as patient under his burthen, and you are under no more constraint than with a pony. I must ride him to-day if the weather holds up.
Also he had put his pride in his pocket, and had written a long letter to his old schoolmate, John Purdie, in far-away Scotland, explaining his present circumstances, and asking him, for old times' sake, to lend him some money until he had finished and sold a novel, which, he was sure, would turn out to be a small gold-mine.
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