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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Yes," said Thorndyke, laying down the dividers, "I think we have narrowed down the locality of Mr. Weiss's house to a few yards in a known street. We shall get further help from your note of nine twenty-three thirty, when records a patch of newly laid macadam extending up to the house." "That new macadam will be pretty well smoothed down by now," I objected.
And at that moment, in the midst of my regrets, the bottle-boy thrust an uncomely head in at the door. His voice was coarse, his accent was hideous, and his grammatical construction beneath contempt; but I forgave him all when I gathered the import of his message. "Mr. Weiss's carriage is waiting, and he says will you come as quickly as you can because he's took very bad to-night."
I remember that my eldest brother Albert, to whom I once had to write for my mother, grew so disgusted with my letter and style that he said he thought I must be going mad. In spite of my hopes that Weiss's lectures would do me much good, I was not capable of continuing to attend them, as my desires in those days drove me to anything but the study of aesthetics.
After puzzling over it for quite a long time, I had to give it up; which I did the less unwillingly inasmuch as the construction of Mr. Weiss's spectacles had no apparent bearing on the case. On arriving home, I looked anxiously at the message-book, and was relieved to find that there were no further visits to be made. Having made up a mixture for Mr.
Weiss's habit of appearing some time after my arrival and disappearing some time before my departure was decidedly odd. That departure coincided in time with the sick man's recovery of the power of speech. Could it be that Mr. Weiss was afraid that the half-conscious man might say something compromising to him in my presence? It looked rather like it.
Was it only feminine vanity mere sensitiveness respecting a slight personal disfigurement? It might be so; or there might be some further motive. It was impossible to say. Turning this question over, I suddenly remembered the peculiarity of Mr. Weiss's spectacles. And here I met with a real poser.
As the Bavarian came up to carry out his instructions Henriette tightened her clasp on Weiss's neck, throwing all her strength into her frantic embrace. "Oh, my love! Keep me with you, I beseech you; let me die with you " Big tears were rolling down his cheeks as, without answering, he endeavored to loosen the convulsive clasp of the fingers of the poor creature he loved so dearly.
It was practically certain that the poison had been administered by someone else, and, on Mr. Weiss's own showing, there was no one but himself and the housekeeper who could have administered it. And to this conclusion all the other very queer circumstances pointed. What were these circumstances? They were, as I have said, numerous, though many of them seemed trivial. To begin with, Mr.
I gave the number per minute of the patient's respirations and the exact quantity of coffee consumed on each occasion, with an exhaustive description of the cup from which it was taken; and I left no personal details unconsidered, from the patient's finger-nails to the roseate pimples on Mr. Weiss's nose. But my tactics of studied prolixity were a complete failure.
And now Weiss's was the only house in the central portion of the village that still continued to hold out, preserving its air of menace, like some stern citadel determined not to yield. "Look out! here they come!" shouted the lieutenant. A simultaneous discharge from the attic and the first floor laid low three of the Bavarians, who had come forward hugging the walls.
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