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Updated: May 17, 2025
'You've about hit it again, Monsieur Valmont. One of my men has been Summertrees' butler for two weeks, but, as you say, he has found no evidence. 'Is he still butler? 'Yes. 'Now tell me how far you have got. You know that Summertrees deposits a bag of coin every Friday in the Piccadilly bank, and I suppose the bank has allowed you to examine one or two of the bags.
He hesitated before answering this question, and looked confused as a culprit caught in some dishonest act. 'You need not be afraid to tell me, I said soothingly after a pause. 'You have had one of your men in Mr. Summertrees' house, and so learned that he is not the coiner. But your man has not succeeded in getting you evidence to incriminate other people.
He considered these points in silence, during several revolutions of the glasses as they wheeled in galaxy round the bowl, waiting until the provost, agreeably to his own proposal, should mention the subject, for which he had expressly introduced him to Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees. Apparently the provost had forgot his promise, or at least was in no great haste to fulfil it.
You may remember that in Rudyard Kipling's story, Bedalia Herodsfoot, the unfortunate woman's husband ran the risk of being arrested as a simple drunkard, at a moment when the blood of murder was upon his boots. The case of Ralph Summertrees was rather the reverse of this.
I do not know, answered Summertrees. Her Grace, who maintained a good deal of authority over her clan, sent for the object of her intercession, and warning him of the risk which he had run, and the trouble she had taken on his account, wound up her lecture by intimating that in case of such disloyalty again, he was not to expect her interest in his favour.
'I hope, said the lady, 'you are not afraid of anything being said out of this house to your prejudice, Summertrees? I have heard the story before; but the oftener I hear it, the more wonderful I think it. 'Yes, madam; but it has been now a wonder of more than nine days, and it is time it should be ended, answered Maxwell. Fairford now thought it civil to say, 'that he had often heard of Mr.
What a glib young liar he was, with that innocent face of his, and yet my next question brought forth the truth. 'As this is the first time you have called upon me, Mr. Macpherson, you have no objection to my making some further inquiry, I suppose. Would you mind telling me the name of the owner of these books in the West End? 'His name is Mr. Ralph Summertrees, of Park Lane. 'Of Park Lane?
'Well, Podgers, just call to mind some of the other households where you have been employed, and tell me any particulars in which Mr Summertrees' establishment differs from them. Podgers pondered a long time. 'Well, sir, he do stick to writing pretty close. 'Ah, that's his profession, you see, Podgers. Hard at it from half-past nine till towards seven, I imagine? 'Yes, sir.
What is the call number of Mr. Summertrees? '140 Hyde Park. Hale at once called up Central, and presently was answered from Park Lane. We heard him say, 'Is this the residence of Mr. Summertrees? Oh, is that you, Podgers? Is Mr. Summertrees in? Very well. This is Hale. I am in Valmont's flat Imperial Flats you know. Yes, where you went with me the other day. Very well, go to Mr.
'With your pardon, said Alan, calmly, but resolutely, 'I must ask a more serious answer. 'Why, Mr. Advocate, answered Summertrees, 'I thought it was your business to give advice to the lieges, and not to take it from poor stupid country gentlemen. 'If not exactly advice, it is sometimes our duty to ask questions, Mr. Maxwell.
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