"I'm only a poor, honest workin' man, sir, been in the
same place nigh on to twenty years and--"
"And hoping you can hang on another twenty, I dare say!" threw in Cleek,
sarcastically. "Oh, I know more about you, my man, than I care to tell.
But at the moment that doesn't enter into the matter. We'll take that up
later. Now then, there's the revolver. Doctor, you should be useful here;
if you will use your professional skill in the service of the law that
seems trying to embroil your friend. I want you to examine the head
wound, please--the head wound of the man called Dacre Wynne, and, if you
can, remove the bullet that is lodged in the brain. Then we shall have a
chance to compare it with those remaining in Sir Nigel's revolver."
"I--can't do it, Mr. Headland," returned Doctor Bartholomew, firmly.
"I won't lend myself to a plot to inveigle this poor boy, to ruin his
life--"
"And I demand it--in the name of the Law." He motioned to Petrie and
Hammond, who through the whole length of the inquiry had stood with
Dollops, beside the doorway.
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