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Updated: May 23, 2025
Allistair's agent, if he ever gets that far, he will turn triumphantly over one sheet of Brentanos' very best notepaper blank." "Blank?" cried Mrs. De Peyster. Mr. Pyecroft's right eyelid drooped in its remarkable wink; his mouth again tilted high to starboard in its impish smile. "You see," he remarked, "the Duke's letter was written in an ink of my own invention.
"Here's santy to him," and I finished my sherry and bitters to you, uncle. 'That's right, said Pyecroft's uncle sternly. 'If you hadn't I'd have belted you worth rememberin', Emmanuel. I had the body all night. Pyecroft smiled affectionately. 'So you 'ad, uncle, an' beautifully you looked after her. But as I was saying, "I have an uncle, too," says Mr. Morshed, dark and lowering.
One trifling idiosyncracy of that ink is that it fades completely and permanently in exactly twelve hours." Mr. Pyecroft's grin grew by degrees more delighted: became the smile of a whimsical genius of devil-may-care, of an exultantly mischievous Pan. But he offered not a word of comment upon his work.
"They can swear to seeing a young man and woman come in. And I know they were Mr. De Peyster and his wife." "That's strange." Suddenly Mr. Pyecroft's face cleared. "I think I begin to understand! It was at night, wasn't it, when the witnesses saw them come in?" "At night, yes." "I'm sorry you have been caused all this trouble, Mr. Mayfair," in a tone of very genuine regret.
Again Mr. Pyecroft's eyes flashed shrewdly, and again were clerically rounded. "My dear sir, that is, indeed, surprising. I have seen no public notice of your marriage. And I watch the marriage announcements quite closely which is rather natural, for, if I may be permitted to mention it, I myself am frequently called upon to perform the holy rites."
Even now I can at will recall every tone and gesture, with each dissolving picture inboard or overside Hinchcliffe's white arm buried to the shoulder in a hornet's nest of spinning machinery; Moorshed's halt and jerk to windward as he looked across the water; Pyecroft's back bent over the Berthon collapsible boat, while he drilled three men in expanding it swiftly; the outflung white water at the foot of a homeward-bound Chinaman not a hundred yards away, and her shadow-slashed, rope-purfled sails bulging sideways like insolent cheeks; the ribbed and pitted coal-dust on our decks, all iridescent under the sun; the first filmy haze that paled the shadows of our funnels about lunch time; the gradual die-down and dulling over of the short, cheery seas; the sea that changed to a swell: the swell that crumbled up and ran allwhither oilily: the triumphant, almost audible roll inward of wandering fog-walls that had been stalking us for two hours, and welt upon welt, chill as the grave the drive of the interminable main fog of the Atlantic.
De Peyster. And then Mrs. De Peyster saw one of the oddest changes in a man's face imaginable. Mr. Pyecroft's eyes, which had been large with benedictory roundness, flashed with a smile. And then, at an instant's end, his face was once more grave and clerically benign. But that instant-long look made her shiver. What was in this clergyman's mind?
Jack's lark in dwelling surreptitiously with his wife in his mother's house, not a breath of that had reached the public. With Mr. Pyecroft's aid, and Judge Harvey's, he had managed this well.
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