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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Perhaps she gambles." "Even if she did, Maraquito's salon would hardly be the place she would choose for her amusement. Moreover, Maraquito does not receive ladies. She has no love for her own sex." "What woman has?" murmured Caranby, ironically. Then he added after a pause, "You know that Mrs. Octagon was present when Emilia fell from the plank in the Rexton house?" "Yes.
He could then have walked up the lane into the main streets of Rexton, or have taken a path opposite to the gate of Rose Cottage, which leads to the railway station. Probably, after executing the crime, he took this latter way. The path runs between quickset hedges, rather high, for a long distance, past houses, and ends within fifty yards of the railway station.
But now his thoughts were too wholly taken up with Lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance to anything else. What she thought mattered incalculably more to Alan than what all the people in Rexton put together thought. He had the right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.
So long as Cuthbert marries the woman he loves, I do not mind." "And what about the woman who loves him?" "Miss Saxon? Oh, I am sure " "I don't mean Miss Saxon, and he will never marry her never. You know that Mr. Mallow is poor. Miss Saxon has no money " "Pardon me. I hear her aunt, Miss Loach, who was unfortunately murdered at Rexton, has left her six thousand a year."
He therefore took the underground railway at once to Rexton, and, alighting at the station, went to Crooked Lane through the by-path, which ran through the small wood of pines. On looking at the cottage he saw that the windows were open, that carpets were spread on the lawn, and that the door was ajar. It seemed that Mrs. Pill was indulging in the spring cleaning alluded to by Susan Grant.
On the night of the murder, both had left the Marlow Theatre, which was near Rexton, and Juliet declined to say where they went. It might be that both had been on the spot about the time of the commission of the crime. Again, unless Miss Loach had admitted her assailant, he must have had a latch-key to let himself in.
The young women he knew in Rexton, whose simple, pleasant friendship he valued, had the placid, domestic charm of their own sweet-breathed, windless orchards. Lynde Oliver had the fascination of the lake shore wild, remote, untamed the lure of the wilderness and the primitive.
"It said that everybody in your congregation was talking about your frequent visits here that it had made a great scandal that it was doing you a great deal of injury and would probably end in your having to leave Rexton." "That would be a catastrophe indeed," said Alan drily. "Well, what else?" "Nothing more at least, nothing about you. The rest was about myself I did not mind it much.
Formerly it had been an unpretentious cottage like the others, but she had added a new wing of red brick built in the most approved style of the jerry-builder, and looking like the villas in the more modern parts of Rexton. The crabbed age and the uncultured youth of the old and new portions, planted together cheek by jowl, appeared like ill-coupled clogs and quite out of harmony.
Juliet and he went to the Marlow Theatre to see a melodrama by a new playwright." "Ha!" said Jennings half to himself, "and the Marlow Theatre is not far from Rexton. I'll make a note of that. Had they a box?" "I believe so. It was sent by the man who wrote the play." "Who is he?" "I can't say. One of that lot who play at being poets in Octagon House. A set of idiots.
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