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Updated: June 27, 2025
Meeting Merriton's astonished eyes with his own keen ones, he went on: "The flames, of course, are a plant of some sort. That goes without saying. But the thing to find out is what they're there for to hide. When you've discovered that, you'll have got half way to the truth, and the rest will follow as a matter of course.... What's that, Mr. Narkom? Yes, I'll take the case, Sir Nigel.
"Marsh gas, Mr. "Headland, please. It is wiser, and will help better to remember when the necessity arises," returned Cleek, with a smile. "Yes, that is all they are the outcome of marsh gas." "But what is marsh gas, Mr. Headland?" Merriton's voice was still strained. Cleek motioned to a chair. "Better sit down to it, my young friend," he said, gently.
"If you please, sir," he said, impassively, and with a quick look into Merriton's grave face, "I heard. And I can speak, if the jury wants me to, I don't doubt but what my tale would be worth listenin' to, if only to add my hevidence to the rest. That man there" he pointed one shaking forefinger at his master's face, and glowered into it for a moment "was the murderer of poor Mr. Wynne!"
She smiled nervously, and instinctively her hand crept out and touched Merriton's sleeve. She could feel him stiffen suddenly, and saw how proudly he threw back his head. "Yes," said 'Toinette. "We're going to be married, Dacre. And I am oh, so happy! I know you cannot help being pleased with that. And uncle, too. He seems delighted." Wynne measured her with his eyes for a moment.
"And I," murmured Cleek, taking in the trim contour and the keen eyes of this man who was to have been Merriton's father-in-law if things had turned out differently. He found he rather liked his looks. "There is nothing one can do?" Brellier's voice was politely anxious, and he spread out his hands in true French fashion then tugged at his closely clipped iron-gray beard.
Dacre Wynne was coming down by the seven o'clock train, Dicky Fordyce, Reginald Lefroy both fellow officers of Merriton's regiment, and home on leave from India and mild old Dr.
You're savin' up for the housekeepin' I suppose. Well, take it or leave it fifty pounds that I get back safe in this house to-night. Are you on?" Merriton's teeth bit into his lips until the blood came in the effort at repression. He shook Wynne's hands off his shoulders and laughed straight into the other man's sneering face. "Well then go and be damned to you!" he said fiercely.
I must say I've taken a chance shot now and again at a bird myself from my bedroom before now. Still, get to bed, Nigel, like a good fellow, and have some sleep. Here, give me the pistol. You'll be potting at me before I know where I am. I'll take it into my room, thank you!" "Right you are!" Merriton's laugh rang more normally and the doctor nodded with pleasure. "Good-night, Doctor."
"From the top drawer of the secrétaire in the little boudoir at Withersby Hall," she said calmly, "where it has always lain. You will find a shot missing. Everything the same, Mr. Coroner; everything the same!" "It belongs to some member of your household, Miss Brellier?" She took a step backward and drew a sharp breath. Then her eyes were fixed upon Merriton's face. "It belongs to me," she said.
Dacre Wynne's gone somewhere, and those devilish flames of yours will be counting another victim to their lengthening list to-night." "Good God!" Merriton's lips trembled, and his fingers dropped from the doctor's arm. "But I tell you it's impossible, man!" he broke out suddenly. "The thing's beyond human credulity, Doctor."
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