The problem was too much for the baronet and he gave it up. The murderer's hand no longer twitched, but it loomed white and loathsome from the bed before him, as if dead already, somehow—part of a—yes—what were those things? Bandages?
Crisp and Jermyn saw a look of agonized bewilderment pass over the baronet's face.
"Did they bring me here from the Old Bailey?" he asked. "Am I out on bail?"
Crisp laughed.
"That's one way of putting it," he remarked. "Yes, you're out on bail, and in another second or two you will be entirely free."
"I'm glad you're going to take that thing off again," said Mortmain. "How could you have done it?"
"It's all right," returned Crisp soothingly.
Then Mortmain suddenly understood. But he waited shrewdly.
"What day is this?" he asked in an innocent manner.
"December 5th," replied Jermyn.