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Updated: May 7, 2025
Taggett, and I shall disregard the advice. After you have answered me one or two questions, I shall be quite at your service." "If you insist, then." "You were present at the examination of Thomas Blufton and William Durgin, were you not?" "I was." "You recollect William Durgin's testimony?" "Most distinctly."
Neither the gold nor the paper bore any known mark by which it could be recognized; the burglar had doubtless assured himself of this, and would not hesitate to disburse the money. That was even a safer course, judiciously worked, than to secrete it. The point was, Would he have sufficient self-control to get rid of it by degrees? The chances, Mr. Taggett argued, were ten to one he would not.
Richard's ire was slowly kindling at the shameful light in which he had been placed by Mr. Taggett, and Mr. Taggett was striving with only partial success to reconcile himself to the idea of young Shackford's innocence. Young Shackford's innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Taggett, for he had irretrievably committed himself at head-quarters.
Now I want you to recollect whether any letter or note or written message of any description was left for me at this house on that day." Janet reflected. "I think there was, Mr. Richard, a bit of paper like." Mr. Taggett riveted his eyes on the girl. "Who brought the paper?" demanded Richard. "It was one of the Murphy boys, I think." "Did you hand it to me?" "No, Mr. Richard, you had gone out.
Slocum's private residence at two o'clock that afternoon was sufficient to give birth to the horrible legend. "Mitchell's Alley," said Mr. Taggett, thrusting his arm through Richard's, and hurrying on the escape the Stillwater gaze. "You went there directly from the station the night you got home." "How did you know that?" "I was told by a fellow-traveler of yours, and a friend of mine."
Taggett had appeared but seldom on the streets of Stillwater; the few persons who had had anything like familiar intercourse with him in his professional capacity were precisely the persons with whom his present movements were not likely to bring him into juxtaposition, and he ran slight risk of recognition by others.
Taggett had received a wound in the most sensitive part of his nature: he had been forced to give up what no man ever relinquishes without a wrench, his own idea. With the exception of an accident in Dana's Mill, by which Torrini's hand had been so badly mangled that amputation was deemed necessary, the two weeks had been eventless outside of Mr. Taggett's personal experience.
Taggett admired more and more as he reflected upon it. He did not, however, allow himself to lay too much stress on these points; for the paper might turn out to be merely an expired lease, and the girl might have been quizzing Durgin. Mr. Taggett would have given one of his eye-teeth just then for ten minutes with Mary Hennessey.
In the lonely house in Welch's Court a light was still burning. A sorely perplexed man sat there, bending over his papers by the lamp-light. Mr. Taggett had established himself at the Shackford house on his arrival, preferring it to the hotel, where he would have been subjected to the curiosity of the guests and to endless annoyances.
Taggett took lodging in a room in one of the most crowded of the low boarding-houses, a room accommodating two beds besides his own: the first occupied by a brother neophyte in marble-cutting, and the second by a morose middle-aged man with one eyebrow a trifle higher than the other, as if it had been wrenched out of line by the strain of habitual intoxication.
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