''
``This thing will be a blot on the Twentieth Century!''
``And your house will be the blotting-pad. Have you
realized that half the papers of Europe and the United
States will publish pictures of it? By the way, I've sent
some photographs of you and your sister, that I found in the
library, to the _Matin_ and _Die Woche_; I hope you don't
mind. Also a sketch of the staircase; most of the killing
will probably be done on the staircase.''
The emotions that were surging in J. P. Huddle's brain
were almost too intense to be disclosed in speech, but he
managed to gasp out: ``There aren't any Jews in this
house.''
``Not at present,'' said Clovis.
``I shall go to the police,'' shouted Huddle with sudden
energy.
``In the shrubbery,'' said Clovis, ``are posted ten men,
who have orders to fire on any one who leaves the house
without my signal of permission. Another armed picquet is
in ambush near the front gate. The Boy-scouts watch the
back premises.''
At this moment the cheerful hoot of a motor-horn was heard
from the drive. Huddle rushed to the hall door with the
feeling of a man half-awakened from a nightmare, and beheld
Sir Leon Birberry, who had driven himself over in his car.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71