Bones in London (Chapter 10, page 1 of 18)


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Chapter 10

Not all the investments of Bones paid dividends. Some cost him money.
Some cost him time. Some--and they were few--cost him both.

Somewhere in a marine store in London lie the battered wrecks of what
were once electro-plated motor-lamps of a peculiar and, to Bones,
sinister design. They were all that was left of a great commercial
scheme, based upon the flotation of a lamp that never went out.

On a day of crisis in Bones's life they had gone out, which was bad.
They had come on at an inconvenient moment, which was worse, since they
had revealed him and his secretary in tender attitudes. And Bones had
gone gaily to right the wrong, and had been received with cold
politeness by the lady concerned.

There was a week of gloom, when Bones adopted towards his invaluable
assistant the air and manner of one who was in the last stages of a
wasting disease. Miss Marguerite Whitland never came into Bones's
office without finding him sitting at his desk with his head in his
hands, except once, when she came in without knocking and Bones hadn't
the time to strike that picturesque attitude.

Indeed, throughout that week she never saw him but he was swaying, or
standing with his hand before his eyes, or clutching on to the edge of
a chair, or walking with feeble footsteps; and she never spoke to him
but he replied with a tired, wan smile, until she became seriously
alarmed, thinking his brain was affected, and consulted Captain
Hamilton, his partner.

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