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176 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