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Updated: June 9, 2025
The Count tore a leaf from a notebook and scribbled something rapidly. When he spoke, it was to the Hungarian, and in Magyar, but it was easy to guess that he was giving earnest directions as to the delivery of the note. "Now would be a good time to raise a row if we could manage it," growled Steingall.
An elastic band caused the book to open at a definite page, and Steingall, who knew a little of everything, and a great deal of all matters appertaining to his profession, deciphered some shorthand characters which promised enlightenment.
"We're not going to worry any more about you," said Steingall contemptuously as he unlocked the hand-cuffs with which he had been compelled to secure Rachel and Fowle. "Yes, you will," was the woman's defiant cry. "Your outrageous conduct " "Oh, pull that stuff on some one likely to be impressed by it.
He waved his long, gouty fingers in the direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him with a look of sleepy indifference.
"He did not even try to hurt me. Now let me take you to my mother." The captain, thoroughly scared by the events he had witnessed, came forward with profuse apologies and offers of the ship's hospitality. Carshaw felt that the man was not to blame, but the Wild Duck held no attractions for him. He hurried Winifred ashore. Steingall came with them.
"At the corner of Center Street and Grand," said Steingall indifferently. He was about to add the unpleasing fact unpleasing to Lord Valletort, that is that the man on duty at the Detective Bureau would certainly refer an inquirer to him, Steingall, when the clerk reappeared.
For the life of him, Curtis could not prevent the tumultuous pumping of his heart from drawing some of the color from his face. "Who else?" he inquired, never flinching from Steingall's searching gaze. "No matter who owned the coat, or whom the license was intended for, the murdered man was no Frenchman, but a New York journalist named Henry R. Hunter," said Steingall.
"It was a mere toss-up whether I or my friend, John Delancy Curtis, took the floor against the combination of noble lords who have retained you to look after their interests, or protect them, I ought to say; but fate favored him, so I am a mere bottle-holder. To push the simile a bit farther, Mr. Schmidt, I may describe Mr. Steingall as the referee and watch-holder.
The visitor should have had on him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin." "I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said Rankin. "It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," said Steingall.
Steingall meant to be obdurate, but yielded, and it was well that he allowed his sympathies to sway his judgment, or there might have been an early vacancy in the chief inspectorship. At that middle hour of the night even New York's prowlers of the dark had retired to their foul rookeries. The streets were almost deserted, and the glare of gas and naphtha had vanished.
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