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Updated: June 12, 2025
He asked me if I thought it wise to try my nerves so soon again with the electric light." "And I hope you told him he was talking nonsense," Bell said, hastily. "There, let us change the subject. The mere mention of that man's name stifles me." Morning brought a long letter from Chris Henson to David, giving him in detail the result of her recent interview with John Rawlins.
Like most apparently wonderful things, the explanation was absurdly simple. A conjurer's most marvellous tricks are generally the easiest. "How foolish of us not to have thought of this before," Chris said, thoughtfully. "At any rate, we know all about it now. And we know who bought the cigar-case so promptly returned to Lockhart's by Henson. I should like to see this Rawlins."
On the whole, we made a very successful business of it for a long time." "You found Van Sneck an excellent copyist. Did he ever copy anything for you?" "No. But Henson employed him now and again. Van Sneck could construct a thing from a mere description. There was a ring he did for Henson " "Was that called Prince Rupert's ring, by any chance?" "That was the name of the ring. Why?"
The name of Reginald Henson was more or less familiar to him as that of a man who stood high in public estimation. But the bitter contempt in his companion's voice suggested that there was another side to the man's character. "I hope you are not asking me to do anything wrong," David murmured. "I am absolutely certain of it," the girl said.
Henson one is conscious of nothing behind the intellect but intellect itself, an intellect which has absorbed his spiritual life into itself and will permit no other tenant of his mind to divert attention for a single moment from its luminous brilliance, its perfection of mechanism.
Then the police got wind of the matter, and Reginald Henson discreetly disappeared from Brighton just in time to save himself from arrest for frauds there and at Huddersfield. A member of the Huddersfield police is in a high position at Brighton. He has recognised Reginald Henson as the man who was 'wanted' at Huddersfield.
"I let him out and closed the gate behind him," he said. "He must have come back for something later on and gone for the dogs. He certainly hit one of the pups over the head with a stick, and that probably set the others on to him. Nobody will ever know the rights of the business." And nobody ever did, for Henson lingered on through the day and far into the night.
The more Chris thought over this the more she was puzzled. Henson could have told her, of course, but nobody else. Doubtless, Henson had started on his present campaign with a dozen different schemes. Probably one of them called for a supply of Steel's note-paper. Somebody unknown had procured the paper, as David Steel had testimony in the form of his last quarter's account.
To ask him, while in absolute want of food, to raise fifteen pounds, appeared to him an insult which probably it was not meant to be. Mr. Henson, the printer and bookseller, had very little knowledge of the actual state of his correspondent, and looking upon the whole scheme of publishing poetry as the driest matter of business, addressed Clare as he would have any other customer.
"I did but not as your wife. . . . She's much more suited to Henson Mortlake I always thought so. He'll keep her in order; you never could have done." Jimmy had been standing with his elbow on the mantelpiece; he swung round sharply. "Mortlake; what's he got to do with it?" he asked fiercely. "What the deuce do you mean by dragging him in? It was nothing to do with Mortlake that she she "
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