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Bawdrey, in the affair of the "Nine-fingered Skeleton," this could be no poison that was administered by touch, injected into the blood through the pores of the skin; for whatsoever Captain Bridewell touched, his son touched after him, and no evil came of it to him.
What game, Mr. Bawdrey? What is it that she is doing?" "She's killing my old dad!" he answered, with a sort of sob in his excited voice. "She's murdering him by inches, that's what she's doing, and I want you to help me bring it home to her.
You will stop here, however. Now, then, hold your tongue; I'm busy." Then he pulled a sheet of paper to him and wrote rapidly: DEAR MR. BAWDREY I've got my man, and am off to consult with Mr. Narkom and to have what I've found analysed. I don't know when I shall be back probably not until the day after to-morrow. You are right. It is murder, and Java is at the bottom of it.
As for my own 'night-cap' well, I can send Dollops down to get the butler to pour me one out of another decanter, so that will be all right. Now, toddle off and get the key, there's a good chap. And, I say, Bawdrey, as I shan't see you again until morning good-night." "Good-night, old chap!" he answered in his impulsive, boyish way. "You are a friend, Headland.
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