STRANGE CRIME OF JOHN BOULNOIS
"What is Pendragon Park?" asked Calhoun Kidd.
"Sir Claude Champion's place—haven't you come down for that too?" asked the other pressman, looking up. "You're a journalist, aren't you?"
"I have come to see Mr. Boulnois," said Kidd.
"I've come to see Mrs. Boulnois," replied the other. "But I shan't catch her at home." And he laughed rather unpleasantly.
"Are you interested in Catastrophism?" asked the wondering Yankee.
"I'm interested in catastrophes; and there are going to be some," replied his companion gloomily. "Mine's a filthy trade, and I never pretend it isn't."
With that he spat on the floor; yet somehow in the very act and instant one could realise that the man had been brought up as a gentleman.
The American pressman considered him with more attention. His face was pale and dissipated, with the promise of formidable passions yet to be loosed; but it was a clever and sensitive face; his clothes were coarse and careless, but he had a good seal ring on one of his long, thin fingers. His name, which came out in the course of talk, was James Dalroy; he was the son of a bankrupt Irish landlord, and attached to a pink paper which he heartily despised, called Smart Society, in the
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