My uncle will tell you that. He took me to my room and spent
the rest of the evening in his study, as you have already heard from him.
No, I cannot say I murdered Dacre Wynne. Though I would say that or
anything to save Nigel. But I didn't discover that this little revolver
of mine had ever been fired until yesterday, when I happened to go to my
secretaire for a letter which I had locked away in that particular
drawer. Then I took it up and chanced to examine it--I don't know why.
Perhaps because it was the same as Nigel's, I--" she choked suddenly, and
bit at her lips for control. "Is there not a loophole _here_, sir, by
which Sir Nigel might be saved? Surely it must be traced who used this
revolver, who fired the shot from it?"
Her voice had risen to a piteous note that brought the tears to many eyes
in that crowded room. The coroner coughed. Then he glanced enquiringly
over at Brellier, who had risen from his seat.
"You have something to say about this, Mr. Brellier?"
Brellier made a clicking sound with his tongue.
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