Bones in London (Chapter 4, page 1 of 18)


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Chapter 4

The door of the private office opened and after a moment closed. It
was, in fact, the private door of the private office, reserved
exclusively for the use of the Managing Director of Schemes Limited.
Nevertheless, a certain person had been granted the privilege of
ingress and egress through that sacred portal, and Mr. Tibbetts, yclept
Bones, crouching over his desk, the ferocity of his countenance
intensified by the monocle which was screwed into his eye, and the
terrific importance of his correspondence revealed by his disordered
hair and the red tongue that followed the movements of his pen, did not
look up.

"Put it down, put it down, young miss," he murmured, "on the table, on
the floor, anywhere."

There was no answer, and suddenly Bones paused and scowled at the
half-written sheet before him.

"That doesn't look right." He shook his head. "I don't know what's
coming over me. Do you spell 'cynical' with one 'k' or two?"

Bones looked up.

He saw a brown-faced man, with laughing grey eyes, a tall man in a long
overcoat, carrying a grey silk hat in his hand.

"Pardon me, my jolly old intruder," said Bones with dignity, "this is a
private----" Then his jaw dropped and he leant on the desk for
support. "Not my---- Good heavens!" he squeaked, and then leapt
across the room, carrying with him the flex of his table lamp, which
fell crashing to the floor.

"Ham, you poisonous old reptile!" He seized the other's hand in his
bony paw, prancing up and down, muttering incoherently.

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