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Updated: June 22, 2025
Although the resemblance between Timson and Whitmore is not sufficient to have fooled anyone who knew Whitmore, nevertheless a description of the merchant as he appeared in court, might easily pass for a description of the substitute. "For one hundred thousand dollars Timson agreed to go to jail in place of Whitmore.
"I do not accuse anyone of murder and I have no proof," asserted Beard. The coroner decided to try a new tack. "Where did Mr. Whitmore spend the past six weeks?" "I decline to tell," Beard answered firmly. "On what ground do you refuse to answer?" The secretary shifted uneasily from one position to another.
There was real pleasure in driving swiftly over the prairie land, through the sweet, spring sunshine, and Miss Whitmore tingled with enthusiasm till they drove headlong into a deep coulee which sheltered the Denson family. "This road is positively dangerous!" she exclaimed when they reached a particularly steep place and Chip threw all his weight upon the brake.
For a man in luck's way he carries a queer sort of face. What's wrong with him?" "Nothing wrong that I know of. The men reckon him a good officer, too." "Well, I'll be even with Master Archibald yet. You hear? But about Whitmore now I caught up with him in Lisbon. You see, he'd got this money off the Jew and he counted on another pocketful from that Belcher woman.
Whitmore entered his office and the time he was found dead, I was at the vault, continuously within sight of two guards," declared Beard. The butler and the other servants were entirely empty of helpful knowledge concerning the crime. All of them united in declaring that Mr. Whitmore had left the house six weeks ago, that no one had seen him leave and he had not been back. Mr.
"Meg, dear," she remonstrated, "is it that fancy-work?" "Well, isn't fancy-work all right?" The girl's voice shook a little. Mrs. Whitmore stirred uneasily. "No, it it isn't in this case," she protested. "Meg, Kathie, I don't like it. You are young; you should go out more both of you. I understand, of course; it's your unselfishness.
After a pause, he said, "A Spanish-sounding one Rodriguez, I think. They were all full of it at the Ferry." "What! Old Ike Rodriguez? Why, he was down in these parts buying up guineas the other day!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers. "Was he?" "Why, hang it all, Whitmore," said a guest, "you know he was! More by token I pointed him out to you myself on Looe hill." "Was that the man?" "Of course it was.
"No, sir," I answered, scarcely grasping the question, but quaking as this man always made me quake. "Thought you mightn't. Well then, our friend is in there." "Our friend?" I echoed. "Who?" "Whitmore." His grin became ferocious now. "We have him, now have him sure enough, this time eh?" But how on earth could Mr. Whitmore have come in Ciudad Rodrigo?
"Well, but I'll hold it. Your hands are dirty." Dr. Whitmore eyed the hands disapprovingly. The Old Man read it slowly through, growing prouder every line. "You're all right, Dell I'll be doggoned if you ain't. Don't you worry about the dance I'll see't yuh get it. You go tell the Countess to bake up a lot of cake and truck, and I'll send some uh the boys around t' tell the neighbors.
I glanced at Isabel, for her eyes drew me. They were fixed on me almost in terror. "I have heard him talk it, sir." "Excuse me: you may have heard him pretending." "But, papa " Isabel put forth a hand as if in protest, and I noted that it trembled and that the ring was missing which she had worn overnight. "You never told me that he that Mr. Whitmore " "Was an impostor?
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