STRANGE CRIME OF JOHN BOULNOIS
wards the place where the sword fell; then came a moan, and then it managed to speak.
"Boulnois … Boulnois, I say … Boulnois did it … jealous of me … he was jealous, he was, he was …"
Kidd bent his head down to hear more, and just managed to catch the words:
"Boulnois … with my own sword … he threw it …"
Again the failing hand waved towards the sword, and then fell rigid with a thud. In Kidd rose from its depths all that acrid humour that is the strange salt of the seriousness of his race.
"See here," he said sharply and with command, "you must fetch a doctor. This man's dead."
"And a priest too, I suppose," said Dalroy in an undecipherable manner. "All these Champions are papists."
The American knelt down by the body, felt the heart, propped up the head and used some last efforts at restoration; but before the other journalist reappeared, followed by a doctor and a priest, he was already prepared to assert they were too late.
"Were you too late also?" asked the doctor, a solid, prosperous-looking man, with conventional moustache and whiskers, but a lively eye, which darted over Kidd dubiously.
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