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Updated: May 16, 2025
The next morning he follows her again, shadows her to Sir ... to this gentleman's rooms, and there, as we know, contrived by a trick to see to whom she had a letter." "But why did he not attempt to get the letter away from her as soon as she arrived? Miss Trevert never suspected Jeekes. She might have shown him the letter if he'd asked her for it ..." The detective shook his head sagely.
"Well, my dear," she said, "Robin was always fond of you, and I dare say it was a shock to him. When men feel like that about a girl they generally say things they don't mean ..." Mary Trevert straightened herself up and dropped her hands to her side. She faced her mother, the tear-drops glistening on her long lashes. "He meant it, every word of it. And he was perfectly right.
Robin thrust one hand into his right-hand pocket to get his pipe, his other hand into his left-hand pocket to find his pouch. His left hand came into contact with a little ball of paper. He drew it out. It was the little ball of slatey-blue paper he had found on the floor of the library beside Hartley Parrish's dead body. Horace Trevert walked abruptly into Mary's Chinese boudoir.
Mary Trevert, standing up in the back seat of the car, had flung her fur over the secretary's head from behind and caught him in a noose. Before Mr. Jeekes could disentangle himself, Robin was at his throat and had borne him to the ground. The pistol was knocked skilfully from his hand and fell clattering on the flags. Robin pounced down on it.
When he took the place over at the beginning of the war, they were telling me, it was a little potty concern making toy air guns or lead soldiers or something of the sort. And they never stop coining money now, it seems. Parrish must be worth millions ..." "Lucky devil!" said Trevert genially. "Ah!" observed the doctor sententiously, "but he's had to work for it, mark you!
The young man squared his jaw. That settled it. He would stay. "I promise not to butt in on your private business," he replied, "but I simply must see Miss Trevert before I go back to London. So, if you don't mind, I think I'll come along ..." The yellow-faced man glanced at his wrist watch. "I can't prevent you!" he exclaimed. Then he rapped out something in Dutch to Jeekes.
"It was terrible ... to die like that!" replied Mary. "It was terrible for him to lose you!" answered the young man. She gave his hand a little, tender squeeze, but relinquished it quickly as the door opened. Mr. Manderton was there, broad-shouldered and burly. Behind came Dr. Romain with a purple nose and eyes watering with the cold, Horace Trevert in plain clothes, Mr.
Yet here was Hartley Parrish, with his vast financial undertakings, his soaring political ambitions, his social aims which, Robin realized bitterly, had more than a little to do with his project for marrying Mary Trevert, stricken down suddenly, without warning, in the very heyday of success. "Why should he have done it?" he whispered to himself, "why, my God, why?"
Why on earth should he of all men go out of his way to slander me to Miss Trevert, to throw suspicion ..." He broke off short and looked at the detective. Mr. Manderton caressed his big black moustache. "Yes," he repeated suavely, "you were saying 'to cast suspicion' ..." The eyes of the two men met.
Miss Trevert, as you know, is made principal legatee, but I understand from her that she does not propose to accept the inheritance. I will not comment on this decision of hers, which does her moral sense, at any rate, infinite credit, but I should observe that Mr.
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