Genre Mystery & Crime. Page - 11

lain the matter to his mother and sister? For they might return before he did, and would be sure to ask innumerable questions.And the girl--would she go with him? If not, what should he do with her? And about her dress? Was it such as his "friend" could wear to one of Mrs. Parker Bowman's exclusive dinners? To his memory, it seemed quiet and refined. Perhaps that was all that was required for a woman who was travelling. There it was again! But he had not said she was travelling, nor

t tell us how his son comes to be your guest," President Bonnet urged."It is very simple: Etienne Rambert is an energetic man who is always moving about. Although he is quite sixty he still occupies himself with some rubber plantations he possesses in Colombia, and he often goes to America: he thinks no more of the voyage than we do of a trip to Paris. Well, just recently young Charles Rambert was leaving the pension in Hamburg where he had been living in order to perfect his German;

ie La Verde's house in Forty-seventh street, disguised as a plumber.The room which she had formerly occupied was nearly in the same condition in which it had been found on the morning after the murder, and a careful search offered no immediate suggestion to the detective. From the sleeping room, he passed to the parlor floor, where he inspected all of the window-catches and appliances, casings, and panels. Again without result. Presently, he approached the stairs which led from the parlor floor

steel bars. "Depend upon it, though, he feels this more than he shows. Why, it's the only friend he ever had in the world--or ever will have, in all probability. However, it's no business of mine," with which comforting reflection he began to whistle as he turned over the pages of the private day-book of the firm.It is possible that his son's surmise was right, and that the gaunt, unemotional African merchant felt an unwonted heartache as he hailed a hansom and drove out to his

words knifed out at me.I pulled my bottom lip. "Looks like the bastard shot you from behind, too." Billings made fists of his dead hands and pounded the arms of the chair. "I want him!" Chapter 3 "All right," I said. "How'd it happen?" Mr. Billings looked uncomfortable as he squeaked around in his seat. I knew the look; he was about to be fairly dishonest with me. "You must realize the importance of--confidentiality." His eyes did a

"Well, to make a long story short, I used to find the little man in his place every morning, always with his black bag, and for nigh unto four months never a day passed without his having his three hours' drive and paying his fare like a man at the end of it. I shifted into new quarters on the strength of it, and was able to buy a new set of harness. I don't say as I altogether swallowed the story of the doctors having recommended him on a hot day to go about in a growler with both windows

r yourself a remarkably lucky girl?"The governess lifted her head from its stooping attitude, and staredwonderingly at her employer, shaking back a shower of curls. They werethe most wonderful curls in the world--soft and feathery, alwaysfloating away from her face, and making a pale halo round her head whenthe sunlight shone through them. "What do you mean, my dear Mrs. Dawson?" she asked, dipping hercamel's-hair brush into the wet aquamarine upon the palette, and poisingit

like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed.'With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in agenial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and lookson intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outwardcoat, hat, gloves, and so forth. Once for all, a look ofintentness and intensity--a look of hungry, exacting, watchful, andyet devoted affection--is always, now and ever afterwards, on theJasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in

el path."Who on earth are you?" he gasped, trembling violently. "I am Major Brown," said that individual, who was always cool in the hour of action. The old man gaped helplessly like some monstrous fish. At last he stammered wildly, "Come down--come down here!" "At your service," said the Major, and alighted at a bound on the grass beside him, without disarranging his silk hat. The old man turned his broad back and set off at a sort of waddling run

with anallowance from his patron, and (it is generally agreed) madeacquaintance with the money-lenders. He was supposed, by hispatron and any others who inquired, to be "writing"; but what hewrote, other than letters asking for more time to pay, has neverbeen discovered. However, he attended the theatres and musichalls very regularly--no doubt with a view to some seriousarticles in the "Spectator" on the decadence of the Englishstage.Fortunately (from Mark's point of view)