thereby making sure that he would tell no tales.
The round, jolly little country practitioner came next day. "Embolism or thrombosis, don't you think?" he suggested, turning to me, and I smiled a grim smile at the eyes of the sick man, who could hear, but could neither move nor speak. It certainly must be a very horrible position to be in, especially when you feel you are dying.
"Quite right, doctor," I answered. "Not much chance." I didn't look at him many more times; in fact, those eyes of his haunt me yet, but self-defence is the first law of nature, and I had recently been hard pressed.
I saw to his funeral and sent him quite a nice wreath. Then, after a few weeks' sailing and fishing in Norfolk, I went back to work, feeling at any rate safe for the time being. But it had been a strenuous fight, and if I had not been a morphia-taker, probably Anderson would have come out on top.
I could afford to take a risk in a tiny out-of-the-way village which in London would have been extremely dangerous. Do you see now what I meant by deduction as against apparent logical certainties?
I finish this just before leaving to play a
