author - "Arthur Conan Doyle"
over her account. The last check but one paid her bill atLausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cashin hand. Only one check has been drawn since.""To whom, and where?" "To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the checkwas drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellierless than three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds." "And who is Miss Marie Devine?" "That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine
windows, andI bought that something might be wrong. I am very glad I did so, sinceit has given me the chance of making the general's acquaintance."Whilst I was talking, I was conscious that the new tenant of CloomberHall was peering at me very closely through the darkness. As Iconcluded, he stretched out a long, tremulous arm, and turned thegig-lamp in such a way as to throw a flood of light upon my face. "Good Heavens, McNeil!" he cried, in the same quivering voice as
oken his neck.""Not I. He has only fainted. The better for him if he never came out of it again." I felt a hand within my tunic. "Matteo is right," said a voice. "His heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and he will soon find his senses." I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a stealthy peep from between my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I had been so long in darkness and it was but a dim light in which I found myself. Soon,
exactly as it stands, beginning at page three of theblood-soaked note-book:"Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli and GustavRaymond I found that neither of them was aware of any particulardanger in the higher layers of the atmosphere. I did not actuallysay what was in my thoughts, but I got so near to it that if theyhad any corresponding idea they could not have failed to expressit. But then they are two empty, vainglorious fellows with nothought beyond seeing their silly names
ient looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance."I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me." But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking
to tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and order over here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men.""What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply. "Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There's James--" "It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed
n the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand.""What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?" "Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the Crown diamond." "Indeed!" "I have the cabman
his is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?""Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was
"That he desired to conceal his handwriting.""But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady shouldhave a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then,again, why such laconic messages?" "I cannot imagine." "It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The wordsare written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a notunusual pattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away atthe side here after the printing was done, so that
rnold upon the glorious "Lays," where he calls out "is this poetry?" after quoting--"And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers And the Temples of his Gods?" In trying to show that Macaulay had not the poetic sense he was really showing that he himself had not the dramatic sense. The baldness of the idea and of the language had evidently offended him. But this is exactly where the true merit lies. Macaulay is giving the rough,
over her account. The last check but one paid her bill atLausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cashin hand. Only one check has been drawn since.""To whom, and where?" "To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the checkwas drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellierless than three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds." "And who is Miss Marie Devine?" "That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine
windows, andI bought that something might be wrong. I am very glad I did so, sinceit has given me the chance of making the general's acquaintance."Whilst I was talking, I was conscious that the new tenant of CloomberHall was peering at me very closely through the darkness. As Iconcluded, he stretched out a long, tremulous arm, and turned thegig-lamp in such a way as to throw a flood of light upon my face. "Good Heavens, McNeil!" he cried, in the same quivering voice as
oken his neck.""Not I. He has only fainted. The better for him if he never came out of it again." I felt a hand within my tunic. "Matteo is right," said a voice. "His heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and he will soon find his senses." I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a stealthy peep from between my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I had been so long in darkness and it was but a dim light in which I found myself. Soon,
exactly as it stands, beginning at page three of theblood-soaked note-book:"Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli and GustavRaymond I found that neither of them was aware of any particulardanger in the higher layers of the atmosphere. I did not actuallysay what was in my thoughts, but I got so near to it that if theyhad any corresponding idea they could not have failed to expressit. But then they are two empty, vainglorious fellows with nothought beyond seeing their silly names
ient looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance."I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me." But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking
to tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and order over here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men.""What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply. "Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There's James--" "It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed
n the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand.""What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?" "Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the Crown diamond." "Indeed!" "I have the cabman
his is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?""Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was
"That he desired to conceal his handwriting.""But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady shouldhave a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then,again, why such laconic messages?" "I cannot imagine." "It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The wordsare written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a notunusual pattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away atthe side here after the printing was done, so that
rnold upon the glorious "Lays," where he calls out "is this poetry?" after quoting--"And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers And the Temples of his Gods?" In trying to show that Macaulay had not the poetic sense he was really showing that he himself had not the dramatic sense. The baldness of the idea and of the language had evidently offended him. But this is exactly where the true merit lies. Macaulay is giving the rough,