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Updated: April 30, 2025
It had saddened him, made him feel unhappy, caused in him a longing to be back again in the bush, on his horse, a hundred miles from everybody. "Shall we go to Manly or Bondi or Watson's Bay, or do you know of a better place?"
'By all those who delight in the uses of words, who rate the exercise of prose above the exercise of verse, who rejoice in all proofs of its delicacy and its strength, who believe that English prose is chief among the moulds of thought, by these Mr. Marriott Watson's book will be welcomed. National Observer. Buckram. 6s.
Shall we go back to Mrs. Watson's?" "It's too late isn't it?" "Well, it's pretty late, no doubt. I dare say it's half past two; but that's all the more reason why we should go to bed." "Well." "What do you say? Do you think we had better disturb Mrs. Watson, or not?" "O, no; let's go into the barn, and lie down in the hay." "Very well. Hay makes a capital bed.
I use it still, and have some always by me on service in a bottle labelled "Bertha," for there is, after all, something in a name. I went home to my quarters rather thoughtful that night; for Bertha Watson's plan of campaign was Austin Graham's plan of campaign, and I knew that Graham was not the man to divulge so much as a hint of this secret.
But let me tell you, there was a comical thing to start with. Lieutenant Hayter, one of Watson's men, was bid to the Council, but the nincompoop was huffed because he wasn't allowed precedence of the Company's captains. These naval men's airs are vastly amusing. He took himself off. Then Mr. Clive put the case; fight at once, or wait.
But I couldn't have afforded another year. There was silence a while till a nurse came in to make up the fire. Fenwick began to talk of old friends, and current exhibitions; and presently tea made its appearance. Watson's strength seemed to revive.
There were six line-of-battle ships, six Company's vessels, five bomb ketches, four Maratha grabs one of them Angria's own grab, the Tremukji, on which Desmond had escaped and forty gallivats. The Tyger led the van. Admiral Watson's flag was hoisted on the Kent, Admiral Pocock's on the Cumberland.
Ye better coom in an' lie on me sofy. "Now, sor, how was Oi to ken, bein' a sailor an' ingorant? She was only a ould lady, an' withered. How was Oi to ken thot she was th' ould Witch o' Endor?" Watson's memory was at work on what he knew of the house at Chatterton Place, especially regarding its occupants at the beginning of the Blind Spot mystery. The Bar's old remark caught his attention.
Honest, they've got me wild, and Tommy Watson's crazier than I am. He can't go to the games as often as he used to, because he's looney about his wife and little Tommy too. So, when I go and he doesn't I have to tell the whole story of the game to him, and say, excuse me, I'll just have time to get to the grounds to see the last four innings, and away he went.
The room in which we were standing was a large one, fairly well furnished, and lined on two sides with bookshelves; in the centre was an oak table cluttered with papers, a couple of chairs, and on one of them, a heavy pipe, which, somehow, I did not think of as Watson's. He noticed my look. "Jerome's," he explained. "We live here Jerome, the detective, and myself.
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