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Updated: June 9, 2025
Warmore that he was one day older than when he stopped at the home of Farmer Pitcairn and hired Tom Gordon. His hair and whiskers were so white at that time that they could not grow any whiter. The face wears the same kindly expression, the shoulders are no more stooped than they were then, and his walk is as brisk and sprightly as ever. Few of his clerks are more alert of movement than he.
I have kept it and the locket ever since, but I never knew you were the original until I heard the story from your lips." "You scamp!" exclaimed Mr. Warmore. "And you never said a word about it." "Yes, you mean fellow, why didn't you tell us?" demanded Jennie, disposed to pout.
Doubtless, he means well, but he may leak. The gentleman for whom we are looking might take it into his head to quiz him: do you see?" "It shall be as you say. Will you call for me?" "Yes; it will be safe enough, I think, to do that." After his family had retired, Mr. Warmore lit a cigar a few minutes before the time mentioned, and sauntered down the path in front of his house.
On the afternoon of the day in which Tom Gordon checked the runaway pony of Miss Warmore, the detective dropped into the store, as any stranger might have done, made a few trifling purchases, and then turned and walked out. As he did so, he managed to pass close to the proprietor, who was standing at the front, and whispered: "It isn't Gordon; I'll see you to-night." Mr.
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