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To this insinuation he turned a deaf ear, assuring us that his family, having lived there so long, must know all about it, and that the brother of Sir Hans Sloane's gardener had made the great clock in old Chelsea Church, as the church books could prove.
The Communion-rails and pulpit are of oak, and the font of white marble of a peculiarly graceful design. Outside in the south-east corner of the churchyard is Sir Hans Sloane's monument. It is a funeral urn of white marble, standing under a canopy supported by pillars of Portland stone. Four serpents twine round the urn, and the whole forms a striking, though not a beautiful, group.
The failure of their attempt to get rid of the storeroom key was matched by their failure to smuggle Turner's linen off the ship. Singleton suspected Turner, and, with the skillful and not over scrupulous aid of his lawyer, had succeeded in finding in Mrs. Sloane's trunk the incriminating pieces.
"She is dead!" said Wilton. "Who is she?" The detective, trying to find signs of life, put his hand over her heart. "I don't know," Wilton answered the question. "Do you, Sloane?" "Of course, I don't!" Hastings said afterwards that Sloane's reply expressed astonished resentment that he should be suspected of knowing anybody vulgar enough to be murdered on his lawn.
Bring a blanket, somebody!" Mr. Sloane's nerves had the best of him by this time. He trembled like a man with a chill, rattling the bottle of smelling salts against the metal end of his electric torch. He had on slippers and a light dressing gown over his pajamas. Wilton was fully dressed, young Webster collarless but wearing a black, light-weight lounging jacket.
"Have you forgotten something?" Stuart looked back at the front door in momentary indecision. "Ye-es," he answered. "I did forget something. But it doesn't matter," he added, cheerfully, taking Sloane's arm. "Come on," he said, "and so Seldon made a hit, did he? I am glad and tell me, old man, how long will we have to wait at Gib for the P. & O.?"
And Webster's down and out, thoroughly and conveniently! If all that don't catch your uncle Robert where the hair's short, I'll quit!" "What do you want to know?" Hastings countered. "You've had access to everything, far as I can see." Reply to that was delayed by the appearance of Jarvis, summoning the judge to Arthur Sloane's room. "I want to get at Webster," Crown told Hastings.
The sun was setting when the party started. William led Rebecca out through the kitchen a muffled, hesitating figure, whose very identity seemed to be lost, for she wore Mrs. Sloane's blue plaid shawl pinned closely over her head and face and lifted her into his cutter with the minister and his wife. Then he and Barney walked along, plodding through the deep snow behind the cutter.
Her right foot went out easily and softly she marvelled at that independent motion of her leg and, taking up the falling weight of her body, restored her balance. Mrs. Brace's voice had not faltered, although she must have seen the misstep. Arthur Sloane's bowed shoulders had not stirred. Mrs. Brace continued the printed enumeration of her stores of knowledge. Lucille took another step.
Sloane's ill, too ill to see me without endangering his life, so his funeral-faced valet tells me. Miss Lucille says, politely enough, she's told all she knows, told it on the stand, and I'm to go to you if I want anything more from her. The judge here knows nothing about the inside relationships of the family and Webster, or of Webster and the Brace girl.
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