'No one must go in,' said the nurse, standing upon the threshold and barring the way. 'He is dead. There is nothing to be done. Wait until the doctor comes.'
Presently Trist returned, bringing with him the surgeon and a police-inspector. They all went into the room together and closed the door. Trist turned up the gas and watched the movements of the surgeon, who was already at the bedside.
'Where is the bullet?' asked the inspector.
'In the woodwork of the door,' answered Trist.
The doctor left the bedside and came into the middle of the room, standing upon the hearthrug with his back towards the fire.
'I should be of opinion,' he said, 'that it was an accident.'
The inspector nodded his head, and looked from the nurse to Trist.
'Does anybody,' he asked, 'know who he is, or anything about him?'
'I know who he is and all about him,' answered the war-correspondent.
Note-book in hand, the inspector glanced keenly at the speaker.