Of the
six chambers one is empty." He reached down and picked up a small
something and held it in the hollow of the other hand, balancing one
against the other as he talked. "Sir Nigel, I ask you. This we recognize
as a bullet which belongs to this same revolver, the revolver which you
have recognized and claimed as your own. It is identical with those that
are used in the cartridges of your revolver, is it not?"
Merriton bent his head. His eyes had a dumb, hurt look, but over the
crowded room his voice sounded firm and steady.
"It is."
"Then I take it that, as this bullet was extracted from the head of the
dead man, and as this revolver which you gave to the police yourself, and
from which you say that you fired a shot that night, that you are guilty
of his murder. Is it not so?"
"I am not guilty."
"H'm." For a moment there was silence. Over the room came the sound of
scratching pencils and pens, the shuffle of someone's foot, a swift
intake of the breath--no more. Then the coroner spoke again.
"Tell us, then," he said, "your version of what took place that night.
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