Witness to the Deed Part 74

"Can't find the bullet, you know. Big bullet shot me; I want it to have it set for my watch chain--I say."

"Yes."

"Doctor's very proud of me, eh!"

"Yes; he considers yours a wonderful case."

"Yes; wonderful case."

"How did it happen?" said Brettison, with a glance at his friend.

"Happen? Ah! I can't find out how it happened. Must have been before I was born."

This last in a very thoughtful tone; and then, more loudly:

"Of course, if it had happened since, I should have known, eh?"

"Very probably," said Brettison.

"I often try to think about it; but it don't matter. I say."

"Yes."

"Doctor's very proud of my case, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, very."

"Don't think he has stolen the bullet, do you?"

"Oh, no, no; not likely."

"No, of course not," said Barron thoughtfully, as he sank back in his chair and went on smoking.

Brettison spoke to him again and again, but his words had not the slightest effect; the man seemed perfectly unconscious of all that was said, and at last there was a tap at the door, and the nurse entered with a tray, and a little tureen of beef tea, with thin slices of toast.

"He always has this, sir, about this time," said the nurse apologetically, "and the doctor said that it must be given regularly."

"Quite right, Mary. Of course."

"He has been talking a little, sir?"

"Oh, yes, for a time, and then he finished; and we have not had a word since."

"No, sir, and you would not till to-morrow now, when he'll wake up a little again, and talk about what a wonderful case his is."

"Poor fellow!" said Brettison compa.s.sionately.

"And he always seems to have got that bullet on his brain, sir."

"Naturally," muttered Brettison.

"And, if you'll believe me, sir, if he didn't ask me to confess yesterday that I'd stolen it to show to people, because his was such a curious case."

Stratton glanced at the man seated there, still smoking placidly, and evidently not grasping a word that was said.

The tray was taken to him, and he submitted to the pipe being removed from his hand, after which, in perfect silence, and in the most mechanical manner, he went on with his meal, while, after a few more words with the nurse, Brettison led the way out into the road, and he and Stratton went back toward the West End.

"Now," said Brettison at last, "you have seen our deadly enemy--the being who crushes down the future of two people I love. What do you say?"

Stratton was silent for a few moments.

"Will he recover?" he said at last.

"Not in this world. The bullet lodged somewhere about the brain, and it has produced, by its pressure, this peculiar form of imbecility. The past is an utter blank to him, and it is only for a short time every morning that he has the power of expressing himself at all."

"You feel certain that he will not recover?"

"I have had the opinions of two of our most famous specialists, and they say it is impossible. The man is, to all intents and purposes, mentally dead. Now, then, as an enemy, Myra has no cause to fear him."

"None."

"He can never trouble you or her for blackmail, even if he had dared, after what has pa.s.sed; so I think he may be left out of the question altogether. You will not, I am sure, think of handing the man over to the police."

Stratton was silent for a few moments.

"No," he said at last; "it is impossible."

"I thought you would feel like this," said Brettison. "Let the poor wretch end his days in peace."

"At your cost?" said Stratton sharply.

"Oh, pooh! A mere nothing, my dear boy," cried Brettison; "and I am not poor."

"I cannot allow that," said Stratton, after a few moments' thought; "and we must do something else. There should be no risk of those two ever coming face to face again."

"Well, is it likely? West End and East End do not often mix."

"No, but there is always the possibility. An accident might bring Myra to some spot where he had been taken. Who can guard against such things?"

"None of us; but I thought I had taken precautions enough."

"But we must take the greatest," said Stratton excitedly.

"What would you do?"

Stratton made no reply, and seemed so plunged in thought that Brettison respected his silence, and they rode back together, with the old man's face lighting up as he felt more at rest and satisfied with the way in which matters had shaped themselves.

They reached the narrow entrance to the inn in due course, and Stratton led the way up into his chambers, closed the door, and pointed to a seat, but kept on pacing the room himself; thoughtful and silent, as if some doubt as to his course were still lingering in his mind.