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Updated: June 16, 2025
For him to have killed himself like this makes me feel convinced that there was some hidden reason, far stronger, far more terrible, than any question of nerves...." Leaning forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, Mary Trevert raised her dark eyes to the little secretary's face. "Many men have a secret in their lives," she said in a low voice. "Do you know of anything in Mr.
But we can get this point cleared up at once. There's the telephone. Ring up Harkings and ask her now." "Why not?" said Mr. Manderton and moved to the telephone. There is little delay on the long-distance lines on a Sunday evening, and the call to Harkins came through almost at once. Bude answered the telephone at Harkings. Manderton asked for Miss Trevert.
"But I was at the War Office for a bit before I was demobilized and I heard fellows speak of him. Counter-espionage, isn't he?" "That's right," nodded Herr Schulz. "You can read his letter to me introducing Miss Trevert." He handed a sheet of paper to Robin. You will have read about it in the English papers.
"And where did you pick him up, I'd like to know?" whispered Manderton in Robin's ear with a backward jerk of the head, as they glided through the brightly lit streets. "D'you mean the doctor?" asked Robin. "No, your other friend!" "Miss Trevert had a letter to him. Something in the Secret Service, isn't he?" Mr. Manderton snorted. "'Something in the Secret Service," he repeated disdainfully.
Robin put his hand on young Trevert's shoulder. Horace shook him roughly off. "I don't care to discuss it with you, Robin!" he said. Robin deliberately swung the boy round until he faced him. "My dear old thing," he expostulated. "What does it all mean? What won't you discuss with me?" Horace Trevert looked straight at the speaker. His upper lip was pouted and trembled a little.
Wright, you are a friend of Mr. Greve, aren't you?" "Rather!" was the enthusiastic answer. "Do you see him often?" The boy's eyes narrowed suddenly. Was this a cross-examination? "Oh, yes," he replied, "every now and then!" Mary Trevert raised her eyes to his. "Will you do something for me?" she said. "Tell Mr. Greve not to trust Manderton. He will know whom I mean.
They reverberated up the fine old oak staircase to the luxurious Louis XV bedroom, where Lady Margaret Trevert lay on her bed idly smiling through an amusing novel. They crashed through the thickly padded baize doors leading to the servants' hall, where, at sixpence a hundred, Parrish's man, Jay, was partnering Lady Margaret's maid against Mrs.
Then, to indicate without any possibility of misunderstanding, that his work had been interrupted long enough, Dulkinghorn got up, and, opening the sitting-room door, led the way into the hall. As he stood with his hand on the latch of the front door, Mary Trevert asked him: "Is this Mr. Schulz an Englishman?" "I'll let you into a secret," answered Bulkinghorn; "he was. But he isn't now!
Both men from the darkness without saw Parrish's desk littered with his papers and his habitual chair beyond it, pushed back empty. Trevert turned an instant, a hand on the window-sill. "Bude," he said, "there's no one there!" "Best look and see, sir," replied the butler, his coat-tails flapping in the wind.
In order, therefore, to gain his confidence, he willingly satisfied the other's curiosity regarding his visit to Harkings hoping thereby to extract some information as to the whereabouts of the letter on the slatey-blue paper. "There was no letter of this description on the desk, you say, when you and Miss Trevert looked?" asked Jeekes when Bruce had finished his story.
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