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Updated: May 31, 2025
Sparrow, sir?" as the man with the garrote put his head over Harleston's shoulder. "Answer for Mr. Harleston will you, Sparrow?" "No, it is not, Mr. Crenshaw," said Sparrow. "I neglected to ask if you're not surprised to see me, Mr. Harleston?" "I am indeed," said Sparrow. "I regret that it was inconvenient for me to remain longer in your apartment, Mr.
Returning to the library, he chose a cigarette, tapped it on the back of his hand, struck a match, and carefully passed the flame across the tip. After several puffs, taken with conscious deliberation, he sat down and took up the handkerchief. This was Harleston's way: to delay deliberately the gratification of his curiosity, so as to keep it always under control.
And with this exclamation the last doubt in Harleston's mind of Mrs. Clephane's having aught to do with the night attack vanished and having acquitted her in that respect, there was scarcely any question as to the sincerity and truth of her tale. As it has been remarked previously, Mrs. Clephane was very good to look at and what is more to the point with Harleston, she looked back.
And whether Dalberg's scorn or Harleston's defection was the more humiliating, she did not know. Together they made a mocking and a desolation of her love and her life. And as she came to hate with a fierce hatred the Princess whom Dalberg loved, so with an even more bitter hatred she hated Mrs. Clephane who had won Harleston from her.
His waiter whisked away the clam cocktail and put down the clear turtle. As Harleston took up his spoon, a page spoke a word to Philippe, who motioned him to Harleston's corner. The next instant the boy was there, a letter on the extended salver then he faded away. Harleston put aside the letter until he had finished his soup; then he picked it up and turned it over.
A moment before Harleston's return, Madeline Spencer, stepping out of the F Street elevator, was met by Snodgrass who had been walking up and down the lobby. They took a taxi and sped away; followed closely by another taxi, which their driver was most careful not to distance. A second later Harleston entered the corridor. As he was about to greet Mrs.
As he did so, Harleston's slippered foot shot out and drove hard into the other's stomach. With a grunt Crenshaw doubled up from pain. The next instant, Harleston caught his wrist and the struggle was on. It was not for long, however. Crenshaw was outweighed and outstrengthed; and Harleston quickly bore him to the floor, where a sharp blow on the fingers sent the automatic flying.
It was a very interesting condition of affairs that confronted him. The episode of the cab of the sleeping horse was leading on to what? Three men in the Collingwood knew of the occurrence, yet no one had come in or gone out, and no one had telephoned. Moreover, they also knew of Harleston's part in the matter.
Harleston's shot down Fifteenth, flashed over the tracks at Pennsylvania Avenue, swung into F Street, and drew in at the Chateau just as the other came around the Fourteenth Street corner, and rolled slowly up to the curb. As Snodgrass was assisting Madeline Spencer to alight and taking his time about it Harleston glanced at his watch, sprang from his car, and hastened over.
The happenings of the recent evening were quite intelligible to him now: When the episode of the cab of the sleeping horse occurred, Mrs. Spencer was in the Chartrand apartment. Marston, in some way, had learned of Harleston's participation in the cab matter, and with Sparrow had followed him to the Collingwood, entering by the fire-escape with the results already seen.
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