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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

If you are Philip Henley, prove it, and let it go at
that. I have told you plainly enough where I stand."
He gazed with black eyes narrowed into slits at the two of us, too
pleased with himself to doubt his success. The sarcastic smile curling
his lips caused me to swear under my breath, but I had gone too far now
to retreat.
"Just as you say, Craig," affecting an easy good nature. "That is
perfectly agreeable to me. However, as it makes no difference what the
late Mrs. Henley thinks, we will dismiss her from the case, and settle
the affair quietly between ourselves. I 've got a proposition which
will interest you." He touched a button, and I heard the sharp tingle
of a bell outside. Almost instantly the door in the cabin opened.
"That you, Peters? Conduct the woman back to her stateroom, lock the
door, and bring me the key."
He bent forward, searching for something in a pigeonhole to his right,
and I caught her eyes, touching my lips with my fingers to signal
silence, while an inclination of the head told her to go without
resistance. The swift change of expression on her face proved her
instant comprehension, as, without uttering a word of protest, she
turned, and disappeared. Henley never glanced up from his work of
selecting papers from a bundle under his hands, nor did I move, until
after Peters returned with the key.


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