2. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. ” “And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked. ’ ‘Pah! One little kiss, voilá tout. You never can tell. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. The gallows has groaned for him for years. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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