Four Max Carrados Detective Stories

Bol Partner

It was eight o’clock at night and raining, scarcely a time when a business so limited in its clientele as that of a coin dealer could hope to attract any customer, but a light was still showing in the small shop that bore over its window the name of Baxter, and in the even smaller office at the back the proprietor himself sat reading the latest Pall Mall. His enterprise seemed to be justified, for presently the door bell gave its announcement, and throwing down his paper Mr. Baxter went forward. As a matter of fact the dealer had been expecting someone and his manner as he passed into the shop was unmistakably suggestive of a caller of importance. But at the first glance towards his visitor the excess of deference melted out of his bearing, leaving the urbane, self-possessed shopman in the presence of the casual customer. “Mr. Baxter, I think?” said the latter. He had laid aside his dripping umbrella and was unbuttoning overcoat and coat to reach an inner pocket. “You hardly remember me, I suppose? Mr. Carlyle— two years ago I took up a case for you— ” “To be sure. Mr. Carlyle, the private detective— ” [...]

Bol

before you.” “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Carrados, with perfect good-humour. “I hadn’t seen it. But I used to know a Calling some years ago— at St. Michael’s.” “St. Michael’s!” Mr. Carlyle’s features underwent another change, no less instant and sweeping than before. “St. Michael’s! Wynn Carrados? Good heavens! it isn’t Max Wynn— old ‘Winning’ Wynn”? “A little older and a little fatter— yes,” replied Carrados. “I have

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Pages: 112, Paperback, Legare Street Press