The Mystery of the Ravenspurs: A Romance and Detective Story of Thibet and EnglandWhite, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
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The Mystery of the Ravenspurs: A Romance and Detective Story of Thibet and England
White, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Tibet Autonomous Region (China) -- Fiction
With a last fond embrace Vera slipped from her lover's side. She smiled
at him brightly from the doorway and was gone. Geoffrey lighted a
cigarette that presently dropped from his fingers and his head fell
forward.
He started suddenly; the cigarette smelt pungently as it singed the
carpet. Somebody was whispering his name; somebody was calling him from
the stairs. Then he recognized Ralph's croaking voice.
"Tchigorsky," he muttered sleepily. "I had forgotten that Tchigorsky
wanted me."
CHAPTER XLVIII
MORE FROM THE PAST
Tchigorsky was waiting. The room was pregnant with the perfume of
Turkish cigarettes and coffee. Ralph handed a cup to his nephew.
"Drink that," he said. "You want something to keep you awake."
Geoffrey accepted the coffee gratefully. It had the desired effect. He
felt the clouds lifting from his brain and the drowsy heaviness of limb
leaving him.
"Are you coming with us?" he asked.
Ralph shook his head. There was a strange gleam on his face.
"I stay here," he said. "You are going to be busy, but I also have much
to do. Don't be concerned for me. Blind as I am, I am capable of taking
care of myself. I shall have a deal to tell you in the morning."
A minute or two later and the two conspirators slipped away. It struck
Geoffrey as strange that they should not leave the house in the usual
way; but Tchigorsky grimly explained that he much preferred using the
ivy outside Ralph's window.
"Always be on the safe side," Tchigorsky muttered. "Come along."
Geoffrey followed. Where Tchigorsky could go he felt competent to
follow. They reached the ground in safety and later were in the road.
The moon had gone and it was intensely dark, but Geoffrey knew the way
perfectly.
"Straight to Jessop's farm?" he asked.
"As far as the lawn," Tchigorsky replied. "It will be a good hour yet
before we can venture to carry out our burglary. I can run no risks
until I know that those two Asiatics are out of the way. What time is
it?"
"About ten minutes to twelve."
Tchigorsky muttered that the time was not quite suitable for him. He
drew a watch from his pocket; there was a stifled whirr of machinery,
and the repeater's rapid pulse beat twelve with the silvery chime of a
quarter after the hour.
"You are wrong," he said. "You see it is between a quarter and half-past
twelve. We will lie on Jessop's lawn till one o'clock and then all will
be safe."
They lay there waiting for the time to pass. The minutes seemed to be
weighted. "Tell me some more of your Lassa adventures," Geoffrey asked.
"Very well," Tchigorsky replied. "Where did I leave off? Ah, we had just
been tortured on that awful grill. And we had been offered our lives on
condition that we consented to be hopeless idiots for the rest of our
days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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