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Updated: May 25, 2025
Timson having conscientious scruples on the subject of card-playing, drank brandy-and-water, and kept up a running spar with Mr. Watkins Tottle. The evening went off well; Mr. Watkins Tottle was in high spirits, having some reason to be gratified with his reception by Miss Lillerton; and before he left, a small party was made up to visit the Beulah Spa on the following Saturday.
But I want you to arrange things so that I can promise immunity to the substitute. His real name is Timson. I'm going to wire a lawyer in Atlanta to get him out of jail on a writ of habeas corpus. Now, it is more important that we land the murderer of Herbert Whitmore than that you should send Timson to jail for aiding in the escape of a man who was killed within a day after obtaining his freedom.
"Of course, the prisoner can't be Whitmore. He's dead. There's no doubt of that." "Not the slightest," acquiesced Britz. "Yet Whitmore and Travis were one and the same person. Now what do you think occurred?" "A substitution of prisoners," guessed the chief. "Precisely," said Britz. "I sweated a confession out of the substitute. He's a poor, sorrowful creature, named Timson.
Watkins Tottle incurred the sin of wishing that the ashes of the Reverend Charles Timson were quietly deposited in the churchyard of his curacy, wherever it might be. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ interrupted Parsons, who had just appeared with clean hands, and a black coat, ‘it’s my private opinion, Timson, that your “distribution society” is rather a humbug.’
Tottle, of the circumstance, and that he, in the most kind and delicate terms, offered to assist us in any way, and even undertook to convey this note, which contains the promise I have long sought in vain—an act of kindness for which I can never be sufficiently grateful.’ ‘Good night, Timson,’ said Parsons, hurrying off, and carrying the bewildered Tottle with him.
‘Timson,’ said Parsons, hurriedly brushing his hat with his left arm, ‘when you say “us,” whom do you mean?’ Mr. Timson looked foolish in his turn, when he replied, ‘Why—Mrs. Timson that will be this day week: Miss Lillerton that is—’
Miss Timson had just time to convey the fact that Personal Immortality was not the affair of a woman of science, before she rose to greet Ian, which she did effusively. "Hullo!" he remarked, cheerfully, when her effusion was over. "No Milly and no tea!" "We don't want either just yet," returned Lady Thomson.
So Miss Timson took the baby and Ralph left all his property with Miss Timson to use for her, and then he girded up his lions, took his Bible and him book and went out West and tackled the savages. Tackled 'em in a perfectly religius way, and done sights of good, sights and sights.
‘I say that so long as we see you to breakfast,’ replied Timson, ‘we will excuse your being absent from the ceremony, though of course your presence at it would give us the utmost pleasure.’ Mr. Watkins Tottle staggered against the wall, and fixed his eyes on Timson with appalling perseverance.
With men enough under you it can be put into practice." "You mean you'd trust me, miss same as if I was Mr. Timson?" "Yes. If you ever feel the need of a man like Timson, no doubt we can find one. But you will not. You love the work too much." Then still standing in the sunshine, on the weed-grown path, she continued to talk to him. It revealed itself that she understood a good deal.
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