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Updated: June 13, 2025
I met Sir Thomas when we got off the train. Spennie Blunt introduced me to him. He seemed to bear it pluckily, but with some difficulty. I think we had better be going, or they will be sending out search parties." "By the way, Jimmy," said Molly, as they went down the hill. "Can you act?" "Can I what?" "Act. In theatricals, you know." "I've never tried.
We enter it uninvited, take all that we can lay hands on, and go out again." "This man's brother I was telling you about," said Spennie, "says there's only one rhyme in the English language to 'burglar', and that's 'gurgler'. Unless you count 'pergola', he says " "Personally," said Jimmy, with a glance at McEachern, "I have rather a sympathy for burglars.
He felt as a toil-worn lion might have felt if an antelope, instead of making its customary bee line for the horizon, had expressed a friendly hope that it would be found tender and inserted its head between his jaws. "I it's very good of you. I shouldn't mind being shown the idea." He listened attentively while Spennie explained at some length the principles which govern the game of picquet.
She did not know what he had been doing; but she was very certain that it was something which he ought to have left undone. "Er hullo, Molly!" said Spennie bonelessly. "What were you doing in Uncle Thomas' room, Spennie?" "Nothing. I was just looking round." "Just looking round?" "That's all." Molly was puzzled. "Why did you look like that when you came out?" "Like what?" "So guilty." "Guilty!
Charteris appeared to be in a somewhat overwrought condition. Rehearsals had turned him into a pessimist, and, now that the actual moment of production had arrived, his nerves were in a thoroughly jumpy condition, especially as the duologue was to begin in two minutes and the obliging person who had undertaken to prompt had disappeared. "Spennie," said Charteris, "where are you off to?"
Throughout the performance he whistled painfully. Wesson regarded him with disfavor. "That looks damned exciting," he said. He reserved his more polished periods for use in public. "What are you playing at?" "Wha-a-a'?" said Spennie abstractedly, dealing another card. "Oh, don't sit there looking like a frog," said Wesson irritably. "Talk, man." "What's the matter? What do you want?
"What about?" "Oh, nothing," said Spennie. "Anyhow, I told him I'd pay him by Saturday, and I don't want to have to climb down." "Of course not. Jimmy shall lend you the money." "Who? Jimmy Pitt?" "Yes." "But, I say, look here, Molly. I mean, I've been to him, already. He lent me a fiver. He might kick if I tried to touch him again so soon." "I'll ask him for it." "But, look here, Molly "
"Oh, I er I was out at the time," said Spennie. "But something frightened the feller," he went on hurriedly, "and he made a bolt for it without taking anything." Jimmy, looking down the table, became conscious that his host's eye was fixed gloomily upon him. He knew intuitively what was passing in McEachern's mind. The ex-policeman was feeling that his worst suspicions had been confirmed.
What are you talking about?" Molly suddenly saw light. "Spennie," she said, "what were you putting in your pocket as you came out?" "Putting in my pocket!" said Spennie, rallying with the desperation of one fighting a lost cause. "What do you mean?" "You were putting something."
Now what's the betting that there isn't room for all of us in the bubble?" From farther down the train a lady and gentleman emerged. "That's the man. Is that your uncle?" said Jimmy. "Guilty," said Spennie gloomily. "I suppose we'd better go and tackle them. Come on."
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