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Books for Sale |
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CADOGAN RAISED HIS REVOLVER, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. The explosion rent the small garden and, like the widening circles which surround a pebble dropped into the water, created alarms and disturbances of diminishing intensity throughout the suburb of St. John's Wood. From the sooty trees, their leaves brown and gold in the autumn sunlight, rose flights of startled birds. In the distance a dog began to howl, Richard Cadogan went up to the target and inspected it in a dispirited sort of way. It bore no mark of any kind. "I missed it," he said thoughtfully. "Extraordinary." Mr. Spode, of Spode, Nutling and Orlick, publishers of high-class literature, jingled the money in his trousers pocket — presumably to gain attention. "Five per cent, on the first thousand," he remarked. "Seven and a half on the second thousand. We shan't sell more than that. No advance." He coughed uncertainly. |