"
And Merriton told it, told it with a ring in his voice, his head high,
and with eyes that flashed and shone with the cause he was pleading. Told
it with fire and spirit; and even as the words fell from his lips, felt
the sudden chill of disbelief that seemed to grip the room in its cold
hand. Not a sound broke the recital. He had been given a fair hearing, at
all events, though in that community of hard-headed, unimaginative men
there was not one that believed him--save those few who already knew the
story to be true.
The coroner stopped fitting his fingers together as the firm voice
faltered and was finally silent, and shot a glance at Merriton from under
his shaggy brows.
"And you expect us to believe that story, Sir Nigel; knowing what we do
about the bad blood between you and the dead man, and having here the
evidence of our own eyes in this revolver bullet?"
"I have told the truth. I can do no more."
"No man can," responded the coroner, gravely, "but it is that which I
must admit I query. The story is so far-fetched, so utterly impossible
for a rationally minded being--"
"But you must admit that he was not a rationally minded being that
night!" broke in a quick voice from across the room, and everyone turned
to look into Doctor Bartholomew's seamed, anxious face.
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