“That’ll do,” said the indignant constable.
The sergeant let his burden gently to the floor again.
“You hold your tongue, you devil!” he said, menacingly.
He crossed to the table and poured a little spirit into a glass and took it in his hand. Then he put it down again and crossed to Burleigh.
“Feeling better, sir?” he asked.
The other nodded faintly.
“You won’t want this thing any more,” said the sergeant.
He pointed to the pistol which the other still held, and taking it from him gently, put it into his pocket.
“You’ve hurt your wrist, sir,” he said, anxiously.
Burleigh raised one hand sharply, and then the other.