“A mere scratch across the arm——”
“Let me see it.”
Hammersley looked into von Stromberg’s face and laughed.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Rather stiffly Hammersley took off his leather jacket and sweater and rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt. Von Stromberg examined the wound with interest.
“So——” he said. “Put on your coat. And after that?”
“I kept away from Ben-a-Chielt and put up for the night at my cousin’s.”
“Who is that?”