Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Do you suspect any one of committing this murder?" "No! On my soul and honor, no!" "Thank you, sir. We'll tackle the butler now, if you please." "I'll send him," said Fenley. Probably in nervous forgetfulness, he lighted a cigarette and went out, blowing two long columns of smoke through his nostrils. He might, or might not, have been pleased had he heard the reprimanding of Furneaux.
Sylvia Manning had pointed out that chair to Furneaux as the one occupied by Mortimer Fenley at breakfast. "Is the first Mrs. Fenley dead?" said Furneaux suddenly. "I don't think so," said Fenley, after a pause. "You are not sure?" "No." "Have you ever tried to find out?" "No, I dare not." "May I ask why?"
Fenley you might tell me why the headquarters of the London Police is named Scotland Yard." "Because it was first housed in a street of that name near Trafalgar Square. Scotland Yard was a palace at one time, built in a spirit of mistaken hospitality for the reception of prominent Scots visiting London.
She was just a Tommy's daughter, and never seemed to try and rise above the level of 'married quarters'. "I had to mind my p's and q's as a boy, I can assure you. My mother was always thrown in my teeth. Mrs. Fenley called her 'black. It was a lie. She was dark-skinned, as I am, but there are Cornish and Welsh folk of much darker complexion. My father, too, shared something of the same prejudice.
You'll find some of the men there. Never mind about me. I'll be all right!" He was running while he talked, edging away toward the group of cedars; and, under the conditions, it was not for Trenholme to undeceive him as to the mistake in regarding the artist as Robert Fenley.
He had switched on the light prematurely, and his ready banter had warned the parricide that a well-built scheme was crumbling to irretrievable ruin. Moreover, he had underrated the nervous forces of the man thus trapped and outwitted. Fenley knew that when his feet touched the earth he would begin a ghastly pilgrimage to the scaffold.
As a matter of form a detective was sent to Gloucester Mansions, and came back with the not unforeseen news that Mrs. Garth was very angry at being disturbed at such an unearthly hour. No; she had seen nothing of Mr. Hilton Fenley since the preceding afternoon.
Again, the girl knew that Hilton Fenley was a rival suitor, and meant to defy his father's intent with regard to Robert. Oddly enough, neither of the young men had indulged in overt love-making. According to their reckoning, Sylvia's personal choice counted for little in the matter.
He realized that these Fenleys were queer folk. Like the Pharisee, "they were not as other men," but whether the difference between them and the ordinary mortal arose from pride or folly or fear it was hard to say. Hilton Fenley smiled wanly. "Bob is adopting the supposed tactics of the ostrich when pursued," he said. "But no one is pursuing him." "I am speaking metaphorically, of course.
"My friend here," turning to the policeman who had voiced his amazement at the suggestion that Hilton Fenley was a murderer, "was in the position of Bret Harte's negro lecturer on geology, while this other stalwart thought he had been kicked by a horse. We soon recovered, but had to grope for each other. Then I called the heavens to witness that I was dished."
Word Of The Day