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Updated: June 8, 2025
His disgust at having been left out in the cold, though he was in no professional way concerned in the task of discovering the murderer of Lemuel Shackford, had caused Lawyer Perkins instantly to repudiate Mr. Taggett's action. "Taggett is a low, intriguing fellow," he had said to Justice Beemis; "Taggett is a fraud." Young Shackford's ingenuous manner now confirmed Mr. Perkins in that belief.
In the paragraph which closes the week's record Mr. Taggett's chagrin is evident. He confesses that he is at fault. "My invisible friend does not materialize so successfully as I expected," is Mr. Taggett's comment. His faith in the correctness of his theory had not abated; but he continued his observation sin a less sanguine spirit.
Taggett's story which stagger me. The motive for the destruction of Shackford's papers, that's not plain; the box of matches is a puerility unworthy of a clever man like Mr.
Slocum recognized, not for the first time, the cropping out of an ancestral trait which had somehow managed to avoid him in its wayward descent. "Well?" he questioned, looking earnestly at Margaret, and catching a kind of comfort from her confident bearing. "It is Mr. Taggett's trade to find somebody guilty," said Margaret, "and he has been very ingenious and very merciless.
It has stood here these ten years." Mr. Taggett bent a penetrating look on Richard. "Why did you refuse to answer the subpoena, Mr. Shackford?" "But I haven't refused. I was on my way to Justice Beemis's office when you knocked. Perhaps I am a trifle late," added Richard, catching Mr. Taggett's distrustful glance. "The summons said two o'clock," remarked Mr.
I was busy all day yesterday; he was ill in the evening, and is still confined to his room." Mr. Perkins was manifestly embarrassed. "That is unfortunate," he said, laying the bag on the desk. "I wish you had talked with Mr. Slocum. Of course you were taken into the secret of Taggett's presence in the marble yard?" "Oh, yes; that was all arranged before I left home."
Slocum began to feel a certain indefinable dread of that little crimson-bound book. Whatever it contained, the reading of those pages was to be a repellent task to him; it was a task to which he could not bring himself at the moment; to-night, in the privacy of his own chamber, he would sift Mr. Taggett's baleful fancies. Thus temporizing, Mr.
Taggett's diary on the table beside her father, who had not moved from his place during the interval. Margaret's manner was collected, but it was evident, by the dark circles under her eyes, and the set, colorless lips, that that half hour had been a cruel thirty minutes to her. In Margaret's self-possession Mr.
This reflection was precisely in Mr. Taggett's line. In absconding Durgin had not only secured his own personal safety, but had exonerated his accomplice. It was a desperate step to take, but it was a skillful one. "He had an accomplice?" repeated Mr. Taggett, after a moment. "Who was it?" "Torrini!" "The man who was hurt the other day?" "Yes." "You have grounds for your assertion?"
Spooner's he held it tightly clasped in his fingers until he reached an unfrequented street, where he halted a moment in the shadow of a building to inspect the paper, which he had half forgotten in his satisfaction at having obtained the key. A stifled cry rose to Mr. Taggett's lips as he glanced over the crumpled note-sheet.
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