Monsieur Judas: A Paradox. Fergus Hume

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Monsieur Judas: A Paradox - Fergus  Hume

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the door was slightly ajar," replied Fanks, sagaciously; "a nervous man would not have slept with his door like that. You're sure you heard nothing?"

      "Quite sure."

      "It's a pity—a great pity. By the way, have you ever been to Ironfields?"

      Roger hesitated, turned uneasily in his chair, and at last blurted out:

      "No; I have never been to Ironfields."

      "Humph!" said Fanks, looking doubtfully at him. "I thought you might have met Miss Varlins there for the first time."

      "So I might," replied Roger, equably; "at the same time I might have met her in London."

      "So you don't know anything about Ironfields."

      "Only that it is a manufacturing town given over to the domination of foundries and millionaires in the iron interest; to me it is simply a geographical expression."

      "I plead guilty to the same state of ignorance, but I will shortly be wiser, because I am going down to Ironfields."

      "What for?" demanded Roger, with a start.

      "I shouldn't let you into the secrets of the prison house," said Mr. Fanks, severely; "but as you are 'mine own familiar friend'—Shakespeare again, ubiquitous poet well, as you are mine own familiar friend, I don't mind telling you in confidence, I'm going down to see Wosk & Co., of Ironfields, Chemists."

      "And your object?"

      "Is to find out the name of the gentleman who bought those pills."

      "I don't see what good that will do."

      "Blind, quite blind," said Octavius, nodding his head mournfully. "I will unfold myself—the immortal bard for the third time. When I find out the name of the deceased, which I can do through that pill-box, I will be able to find out all about his antecedents. Satisfied on that point, it is possible, nay probable, that I may find some one who has ill-feelings towards him."

      "And therefore poisons him in Jarlchester while they remain at Ironfields," said Roger, ironically. "I congratulate you on your clear-sightedness."

      "It's puzzling, certainly, very puzzling," replied Fanks, rubbing his head with an air of vexation. "I've got absolutely nothing to work on."

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