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Updated: June 13, 2025
"But my sister," he said, "was in his rooms she might have seen him!" "Your sister's name was never mentioned in the matter," Wrayson said. "I was the only witness who knew anything about her and I said nothing." Duncan drew a little breath. "Why?" he asked. "An impulse," Wrayson answered.
The Colonel closed the door after her, and stood for a moment with his back against it, for Wrayson had shown signs of a desire to follow the woman whose egress he had just permitted. He looked into their faces, white with horror full of dread of what was to come, and he smiled reassuringly.
He walked up to Wrayson's side. His voice shook, but he was in deadly earnest. "Look here," he said, "the contents of that packet, whatever they may be, are mine mine and hers! You have nothing to do with the matter at all. I will not have you in the room when they are opened." Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. "The packet will be opened here," he said, "and I shall certainly be present."
"First, then," Wrayson said, "it would appear that he was murdered by the people who were paying him two thousand a year, and who were acting in opposition to your client!" Mr. Bentham shrugged his shoulder gently. "It does not sound unreasonable," he admitted. "And secondly," Wrayson continued, "if that was so, he was probably robbed of these securities at the same time." "Now that, also," Mr.
I do not see very well even with my glasses, but I fancy, no! I am quite sure, that his face is familiar to me." Wrayson leaned forward from his seat in the back of the box and looked downward. There was no mistaking the person indicated by the Baroness, nor was it possible to doubt his obvious interest in their little party. Wrayson frowned slightly as he returned his greeting.
They spoke of the journey, suddenly determined upon by Madame de Melbain on receipt of his telegram, of the beauty of St. Etarpe, of the wonderful reappearance of her brother. "I can scarcely realize even now," she said, "that he is really alive. He is so altered. He seems a different person altogether." "He has gone through a good deal," Wrayson remarked. She sighed. "Poor Duncan!" she murmured.
"No! the furniture belongs to the landlord. There will be an inventory, of course, and you will be able to find out if anything was your brother's." It was obvious that Mr. Sydney Barnes had not as yet entered upon the purpose of his visit. He fidgeted for a moment or two with his hat, and looked up at Wrayson, only to look nervously away again.
Heneage, who was leaning back in his chair, looking into the fire with half closed eyes, straightened himself, and turned directly towards his companion. "How much do you know about the Baroness de Sturm?" he asked. "Nothing at all," Wrayson answered. "I met her for the first time to-night." Heneage looked back into the fire. "Ah!" he murmured. "I thought that it might be so.
Wrayson shook his head. "I do not think that any man could call himself Heneage's particular friend," he answered. "He is exceedingly reticent about himself and his doings. He is a man whom none of us know much of." The Baroness leaned a little forward. "Mr.
I mean of course not." "These letters," she continued, "you have not seen them, Mr. Sydney? No? Or you, Mr. Wrayson?" "We have not come across any letters at all answering to that description," Wrayson assured her. The Baroness glanced across at Barnes, who was certainly regarding her in somewhat peculiar fashion. "Why does Mr.
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