"
He whipped round suddenly upon Cleek, his faded eyes, with their fringe
of almost white lashes, flashing like points of light from the seamed and
wrinkled frame of his face.
"If you want to hear that foolish part of the story, I can give it to
you," he said, sharply. "Because I happened to be there."
"_You!_"
"Yes--I, Mr.--er--Headland, isn't it? Ah, thanks. But the boy's unstrung,
nerve-racked. He's been through too much. The whole beastly thing has
made a mess of him, and he was a fool to meddle with it. Nigel Merriton
fired a shot that night when Dacre Wynne disappeared, Mr. Headland; fired
it after he had gone up to his room, a little over-excited with too much
champagne, a little over-wrought by the scene through which he had just
passed with the man who had always exercised such a sinister influence
over his life."
"So Sir Nigel was no good friend of this man Wynne's, then?" remarked
Cleek, quietly, as if he did not already know the fact.
The doctor looked up as though he were ready to spring upon him and tear
him limb from limb.
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