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Updated: June 25, 2025
There were peculiarities about the fellow, said Triffitt, which you couldn't forget certainly, Frank Burchill was Francis Bentham. But on the third day, two things happened one connected directly with Triffitt's new venture, the other not.
Tertius bought a copy of the newspaper, and standing aside on the pavement, read with much interest and surprise the story which Triffitt's keen appetite for news and ready craftsmanship in writing had so quickly put together. Happening to glance up from the paper in the course of his reading, he observed that several other people were similarly employed.
Triffitt's companion was an athletically inclined young woman long walks in the country on summer Sundays had toughened her powers of locomotion and she strode out manfully in response to Triffitt's command to hurry up. "Lucky that you were with me, Trixie!" exclaimed Triffitt. "You make a splendid blind. Supposing he does look round and sees that he's being followed?
A shiver shot through Triffitt's spine and went out of his toes with a final sting. "Mr. Markledew wants Mr. Triffitt!" Two or three other junior reporters who were scribbling in the room glanced at Triffitt as he leapt to obey the summons. They hastened to make kindly comments on this unheard-of episode in the day's dull routine. "Pale as a fair young bride!" sighed one.
Eight o'clock came and went nine o'clock, ten o'clock followed and sped into the past, and they were still there. It was drawing near to eleven, and they had been in those rooms well over three hours, when a slight sound came at Triffitt's window and Davidge put his head in, to be presently followed by Milsey. Milsey looked as innocent as ever, but it seemed to Triffitt that Davidge looked grave.
And Triffitt's flat was like this you entered through a double door into a good-sized sitting-room, out of which two other rooms led one went into a small kitchen and pantry; the other into the bedroom, at the side of which was a little bathroom.
Triffitt's recent inquiries in connection with the Herapath affair had been all very well from a strictly professional point of view, but not so well from another.
He had wanted to find things out for himself, to make a grand discovery, to be able to go to Markledew and prove his case. Markledew could then have done what he pleased; it had always been in Triffitt's mind that Markledew would in all probability present the result of his reporter's labours to the people at Scotland Yard.
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