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Updated: June 28, 2025
The Pennsylvania Railroad, from its station in Johnstown City nearly to Wilmore, a distance of seven miles, had a magnificent road bed of solid rock. From East Conemaugh to the point in Johnstown opposite the Gautier Steel Works, this road bed, ballast and all are gone. Only a few rails may occasionally be seen in the river below. Freaks of the Flood.
Andrew Wilmore, who had observed his action, spoke of it as they settled down to lunch. "So you are going to keep your engagement tonight, Francis?" he observed. The latter nodded. "After all, why not?" he asked, a little defiantly. "It ought to be interesting." "Well, there's nothing of the sordid criminal, at any rate, about Oliver Hilditch," Wilmore declared.
The weight is within a few pounds the same, neither has ever seen the other, only in this case the fight is with regulation gloves and under Queensberry rules." "Who is your amateur, Sir Timothy?" Wilmore asked harshly. "Your brother, Mr. Wilmore," was the prompt reply. "You shall see the fight if I have your promise not to attempt in any way to interfere." Wilmore rose to his feet.
It was illuminated by lamps with ground-glass shades which gave only a feeble light, as if out of consideration for the envoy's weak sight. After ten minutes' expectation the clock struck ten; at the fifth stroke the door opened and Lord Wilmore appeared. He was rather above the middle height, with thin reddish whiskers, light complexion and light hair, turning rather gray.
He saw from the window the arrival of Reginald Wilmore which was according to instructions, as they were to come down to Hatch End together went down the stairs to meet him, and, to cut a long story short, fetched him out of your office, Ledsam, without allowing him to finish his letter.
Mine is a militant spirit and it needs the outlet of action." "Action, yes, but how?" Wilmore queried. "You can't be always hanging about the courts, waiting for the chance of defending some poor devil who's been wrongfully accused there aren't enough of them, for one thing. On the other hand, you can't walk down Regent Street, brandishing a two-edged sword and hunting for pickpockets."
"And yet they are here together, dining tete-a-tete, on a night when it must have needed more than ordinary courage for either of them to have been seen in public at all," Wilmore pointed out. "It is as astounding to me as it is to you," Francis confessed. "From the way she spoke, I should never have dreamed that they were living together."
I can only speak of the impression she left upon me, and you are about the only person breathing to whom I could speak of that." Wilmore nodded sympathetically.
"If The Walled House," he said at last, "is so carefully guarded that Sir Timothy has been informed of my watching the place and has been made aware of my mild questionings, it must be because there is something to conceal. I may or may not be on the track of Mr. Reginald Wilmore, but," the detective concluded, "of one thing I am becoming convinced The Walled House will pay for watching."
Wilmore dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. It was a chilly evening, but there were drops of perspiration still standing there. "Francis," he confessed, "it's horrible! I don't think realism like this attracts me. It's horrible! What are we going to do?" "Nothing for the present," was the brief reply. "If we were to tell our story, we should only be laughed at.
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