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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Black Box"

"Mr. Quest and I both
took out our watches to see if we could make New York by mid-day. Then one
of those fellows hit me over the head and I've been laid up ever since. A
man who keeps a store a little way along the road picked me up and looked
after me."
Inspector French held out his hand.
"Mr. Quest," he said, "I reckon we'll have to withdraw the case against
you. No hard feeling, I hope?"
"None at all," Quest replied promptly, taking his hand.
"That's all right, then," French declared. "I've brought two more men with
me. Perhaps, Mr. Sheriff, you wouldn't mind escorting your prisoners
around to headquarters? I'll be there before long."
"And you girls," Quest insisted, "go right to your room and rest. I'll
come upstairs presently and have a talk. Look after her, Laura," he added,
glancing a little anxiously at Lenora. "She has had about as much as she
can bear, I think."
The two girls left the room. Quest stood upon the threshold, watching the
Sheriff and his prisoners leave the house. The former turned round to wave
his adieux to them.
"There's an elderly josser out here," he shouted; "seems to want to come
in."
Quest leaned forward and saw the Professor.
"Come right in, Mr. Ashleigh," he invited.
The Professor promptly made his appearance. His coat was ill-brushed and
in place of a hat he was wearing a tweed cap which had seen better days.
His expression was almost pathetic.
"My dear Quest," he exclaimed, as he wrung his hand, "my heartiest
congratulations! As you know, I always believed in your innocence.


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