And as I
looked--believe it or not, as you will--another flame suddenly sprang up
at the left of the others, a flame that seemed brighter, bigger than any
of the rest, a flame that bore with it the message: 'I am Dacre Wynne'."
Cleek smiled, crookedly, and went on stroking his chin.
"Rather a fanciful story that, Sir Nigel," he said, "but go on. What
happened?"
"Why, I fired at the thing. I picked up my revolver and, in a sort of
blind rage, fired at it through the open window; and I believe I said
something like this: 'Damn it, why won't you go? I'll make you go, you
maddening little devil!' though I know those weren't the identical words
I spoke. As soon as the shot was fired my brain cleared. I began to feel
ashamed of myself, thought what a fool I'd look in front of the boys if
they heard the story; and just at that moment Doctor Bartholomew knocked
at the door."
Here the doctor nodded vigorously as thought to corroborate these
statements, and made as if to speak.
Cleek silenced him with a gesture.
"And then--what next, Sir Nigel?"
Merriton cleared his throat before proceeding.
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