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

"The Black Box"

"
"I am quite well, thank you, Mr. Ashleigh," Lenora replied. "I am even
forgetting that I ever had nerves. I have been in the courthouse all the
morning, and I even looked curiously at your garage as we drove up."
"Very good--very good, my dear!" the Professor murmured. "At the
courthouse, eh? Were those charming friends of yours from Bethel being
tried, Quest?"
Quest nodded.
"Red Gallagher and his mate! Yes, they got it in the neck, too."
"Personally," the Professor exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with
appreciation of his own wit, "I think that they ought to have got it round
the neck! However, let us be thankful that they are disposed of. Their
attack upon you, Mr. Quest, introduced rather a curious factor into our
troubles. Even now I find it a little difficult to follow the workings of
our friend French's mind. It seems hard to believe that he could really
have imagined you guilty."
"French is all right," Quest declared. "He fell into the common error of
the detective without imagination."
"What about that unhappy man Craig?" the Professor asked gloomily. "Isn't
the _Durham_ almost due now?"
Quest took out the cablegram from his pocket and passed it over. The
Professor's fingers trembled a little as he read it. He passed it back,
however, without immediate comment.
"You see, they have been cleverer over there than we were," Quest
remarked.
"Perhaps," the Professor assented. "They seem, at least, to have arrested
the man. Even now I can scarcely believe that it is Craig--my servant
Craig--who is lying in an English prison.


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