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Updated: June 12, 2025
A faint grin appears on Captain Wrynche's large perturbed face. "Don't be epigrammatic, Wrynche." The dull weariness in the young voice gives place to quick affront. "And keep the secret. Don't give me away." "Did I ever give you, or any other man who ever trusted me, away? Tell me that."
"I I love her so, Wrynche. And to stand by and see another man cut in and win what I've lost by my own rotten folly hurts so so damnably." His mouth is twisted with pain. "Is there another chap who wants to cut in?" Bingo demands.
If a clever woman could be the confidante of a Cabinet Minister, the post of right-hand to the Officer Commanding H.M. Forces in Gueldersdorp might be won. And then the world would know what Hannah Wrynche was born for. What was he saying? "I never warn my victims beforehand." "Sphinx! and I hoped to find you in the relenting mood!"
"Wrynche, how much longer do you think I can go on listening to this? You're simply maundering, man, and my nerves won't stand it." "Oh, very well! But you haven't the ghost of a right to lay claim to nerves," Captain Bingo obstinately asseverates. "Now look at me." "I'm hanged if I want to!" declares Beauvayse. "You're not a cheering object." He drops back into the bamboo chair again.
Lady Hannah Wrynche, entertaining what she disdainfully termed a "hen party" in her private rooms at Nixey's, vacated in her honour by the landlord's wife expected them to coffee.
All its drawers stood open. Ledgers and case-books stood on it, neatly arrayed. A thick packet, heavily sealed, was addressed in Saxham's small, firm handwriting to Major Bingham Wrynche, Plas Bendigaid, Herion, South Wales. There were other letters in an orderly pile. She glanced at the uppermost. It bore her own name. She took it and kissed it, and put it in her breast.
To the remarkably complete system of underground wires installed by the Garrison Telephone Corps, Lady Hannah Wrynche, on duty at the Convalescent Hospital that was once the Officers' Club, was, upon the Thursday that saw the publication of the string of paragraphs previously quoted from the Siege Gazette, indebted for what she afterwards described with ruefulness as a "heckled morning."
Put me to the test. Let the house in Wilton Place we'll live at Wrynche Rodelands, if you think you won't be bored?" He bellowed joyously! "Me bored!
In the days that followed he saw his private patients as usual, and operated upon a regular mid-week morning at St. Stephen's, whose senior surgeon had recently resigned. The rest of the time he spent in making his arrangements. Sanely, logically, methodically, everything had been thought out. Major Wrynche was to be her guardian, co-trustee with Lord Castleclare, and executor of the Will.
And a beckoning hand summons Captain Bingo from the bedside of his dying friend ere ever the word of parting has been spoken. "It is for you, Wrynche, as I expected." "I am ready, sir. Orderly, get my damned brute out!" The sorrow and love that swell the big man's heart to bursting find rather absurd expression in his savage objurgation of the innocent brown charger.
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