Genre - Mystery & Crime. You are on the page - 9
any young girl can stomach the life at Clinch's.""It's a wonder what a decent woman will stand," observed Stormont. "Ninety-nine per cent. of all wives ought to receive the D. S. O." "Do you think we're so rotten?" inquired Lannis, smiling. "Not so rotten. No. But any man knows what men are. And it's a wonder women stick to us when they learn." They laughed. Lannis glanced at his watch again. "Well," he said, "I don't believe anybody
her head, my name is not Jeremiah Bates.""You mean the French maid?" "Why, yes, of course. I take it there's little doubt but what she performed the double duty of unlocking the safe and the window too. You see I look at it this way, Miss Brooke: all girls have lovers, I say to myself, but a pretty girl like that French maid, is bound to have double the number of lovers than the plain ones. Now, of course, the greater the number of lovers, the greater the chance there is of
himself; for the Coroner, if you know what that means.""But what if she's alive! Those things will crush her. Let us take them off. I'll help. I'm not too weak to help." "Do you know who this person is?" I asked, for her voice had more feeling in it than I thought natural to the occasion, dreadful as it was. "I?" she repeated, her weak eyelids quivering for a moment as she tried to sustain my scrutiny. "How should I know? I came in with the policeman and
e a real getaway. All I needed to lay hands on him was a good description.""Description?" echoed Whipple. "Your agency's got descriptions on file--thumb prints--photographs--of every employee of this bank." "Every one of 'em but Clayte," I said. "When I came to look up the files, there wasn't a thing on him. Don't think I ever laid eyes on the man myself." A description of Edward Clayte? Every man at the table--even old Sillsbee--sat up and opened
ourt judge, was found by the police at his home, Riversbrook in Tanton Gardens, Hampstead, to-day. Deceased had been shot through the heart. The police have no doubt that he was murdered."But the morning papers of the following day did full justice to the sensation. It was the month of August when Parliament is "up," the Law Courts closed for the long vacation, and when everybody who is anybody is out of London for the summer holidays. News was scarce and the papers vied with one
Tower, Morgan discovered that he had saved as much money for his old age as a sensible man could want; that he was tired of the active pursuit--or, as he termed it, of the dignified quackery of his profession; and that it was only common charity to give his invalid brother a companion who could physic him for nothing, and so prevent him from getting rid of his money in the worst of all possible ways, by wasting it on doctors' bills. In a week after Morgan had arrived at these conclusions, he