Explore "Stolen Idols" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ralph Endacott, erstwhile professor of Oxford University and partner in the great Oriental house of Johnson and Company, now an English country gentleman, sat before wide-flung French windows leading out on to the lawn, sunken gardens and miniature park of the Great House at Market Ballaston. In front of him was an oak writing table upon which were pen and ink and a steel-clamped coffer, apparently of great age but attached to which was a modern Bramah lock. Upon the blotting paper were a few sheets of yellow, unfamiliar-looking, thick paper, covered with weird hieroglyphics; in his left hand a pair of magnifying glasses. The scent of the roses from outside had disturbed him in the midst of his labour. He rang a silver bell which stood upon the edge of the table -- rang it a second time. Claire, a flutter of cool white, swung herself out of a hammock close at hand and approached lazily.
"What is it, Nunks dear? " she enquired. "You know very well that none of the servants can hear that bell, only me."