Kelson turned to a side table and poured out a drink.
"Decent fellow, Dipper, and uniformly obliging," he said. "I certainly don't see why he should be inconvenienced and kept out of his bed by that swanker, who has probably gone off with some pal and hasn't had the decency to leave word to that effect. Bad style of man altogether. Hullo! What's this?"
"What's the matter?"
Gifford crossed to Kelson, who was looking at his shirt-cuff.
"What's this?"
A dark red streak was on the white linen.
"Hanged if it doesn't look like blood," Kelson said, holding it to the light.
Gifford caught his arm and scrutinized the stain.
"It is blood," he said positively.