The Devil's PawOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Devil's Paw
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories
“This,” declared Julian, about a couple of hours later, as he helped
himself for the second time to bacon and eggs, “is a wonderful tribute
to the soundness of our constitutions. Miles, it is evident that you and
I have led righteous lives.”
“Being sandbagged seems to have given you an appetite,” Furley observed.
“And a game leg seems to have done the same for you,” Julian rejoined.
“Did the doctor ask you how you did it?”
Furley nodded.
“I just said that I slipped on the marshes. One doesn’t talk of such
little adventures as you and I experienced last night.”
“By the bye, what does one do about them?” Julian enquired. “I feel a
little dazed about it all, even now living in an unreal atmosphere and
that sort of thing, you know. It seems to me that we ought to have out
the bloodhounds and search for an engaging youth and a particularly
disagreeable bully of a man, both dressed in brown oilskins and--”
“Oh, chuck it!” Furley intervened. “The intelligence department in
charge of this bit of coast doesn’t do things like that. What you want
to remember, Julian, is to keep your mouth shut. I shall have a chap
over to see me this afternoon, and I shall make a report to him.”
“All the same,” persisted Julian, “we--or rather I--was without a doubt
a witness to an act of treason. By some subtle means connected with what
seemed to be a piece of gas pipe, I have seen communication with the
enemy established.”
“You don’t know that it was the enemy at all,” Furley grunted.
“For us others,” Julian replied, “there exists the post office, the
telegraph office and the telephone. I decline to believe that any
reasonable person would put out upon the sea in weather like last
night’s for the sake of delivering a letter to any harmless inhabitant
of these regions. I will have my sensation, you see, Furley. I have
suffered--thank heavens mine is a thick skull!--and I will not be
cheated of my compensations.”
“Well, keep your mouth shut, there’s a good fellow, until after I have
made my report to the Intelligence Officer,” Furley begged. “He’ll be
here about four. You don’t mind being about?”
“Not in the least,” Julian promised. “So long as I am home for dinner,
my people will be satisfied.”
“I don’t know how you’ll amuse yourself this morning,” Furley observed,
“and I’m afraid I sha’n’t be able to get out for the flighting this
evening.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Julian begged. “Remember that I am practically
at home. It’s only three miles to the Hall from here so you mustn’t look
upon me as an ordinary guest. I am going for a tramp in a few minutes.”
“Lucky chap!” Furley declared enviously. “Sunshine like this makes one
feel as though one were on the Riviera instead of in Norfolk. Shall you
visit the scene of your adventure?”
“I may,” Julian answered thoughtfully. “The instinct of the sleuthhound
is beginning to stir in me. There is no telling how far it may lead.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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