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And as there were knives and meat choppers about, Clarence very generously resolved to humour him and so avoid anything tragic. It is beyond dispute that Mr. Coombes played with Mr. Clarence to his heart's content; they could not have been more playful and familiar if they had known each other for years.
Catch!" He tossed the jemmy up to Coombes, and Coombes succeeded in catching it. Then Kerry raised the glass-less sash of the window and stepped into a little room, which he surveyed by the light of his electric torch. It was filthy and littered with rubbish, but showed no sign of having been occupied for a long time. The ceiling was nearly black, and so were the walls.
"It take time to make them all comfortable, you see, sir," he returned, taking up his shears again and clipping away at the top and sides of the mound. "You mean the dead, Coombes?" "Yes, sir; to be sure, sir." "You don't think it makes much difference to their comfort, do you, whether the grass is one length or another upon their graves?" "Well no, sir.
He began all right and then something seemed to happen, and then he was finishing it. I cannot make out what he did with the middle of the story. It ended up, I know, however, with somebody finding something; and that put Mr. Coombes in mind of a very curious affair that took place at an old Mill, once kept by his brother-in-law. Mr.
"Who are you, and in what way are you concerned in this case?" "I am the son of Lord Wrexborough, and I " He paused, glancing helplessly at Seton. He had recognized that the first mention of Rita Irvin's name in the police evidence must be made by himself. "Speak up, sir," snapped Kerry. "Sergeant Coombes is deaf." Gray's face flushed, and his eyes gleamed angrily.
Neither of the representatives of Spinker's Agency ventured any remark, and: "How long have you been watching Mrs. Monte Irvin?" demanded Kerry. "Nearly a fortnight," replied Brisley. "Got your evidence in writing?" "Yes." "Up to tonight?" "Yes." "Dictate to Sergeant Coombes." He turned on his heel and crossed to the divan upon which his oilskin overall was lying.
"I fail to see any reason why we should interrupt proceedings for that purpose, Mr. Coombes. You can confer as much as you wish with your client after this session, and I can assure you that you will be called upon to do nothing on his behalf until then." He gave a light tap with his gavel and then said: "Dr. Ernst Mallin will please take the stand."
"Oh, they'll have to be. I don't know about this morning; it'll be mostly formalities." He made a grimace that was half a frown and half a smile. "I really don't know whether to consider them as witnesses or as exhibits, and I hope I'm not called on to rule on that, at least at the start. Either way, Coombes or Brannhard would accuse me of showing prejudice." "I want to see them.
But it did not take them many minutes now to drop their strongest anchor, and they were soon riding in perfect safety for some time to come. One of the two men was the son of old Coombes, the sexton, who was engaged to marry the girl I have spoken of in the end of the fourth chapter in the second volume.
She looked across at Coombes; if looks were bullets, he'd have been deader than Kurt Borch. "Why would they sacrifice four Fuzzies merely to support a story that was bound to come apart anyhow?" Brannhard asked. "That was no sacrifice. They had to get rid of those Fuzzies, and they were afraid to kill them themselves for fear they'd be charged with murder along with Leonard Kellogg.
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