Holmes," said the inspector, earnestly.
"In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to
examine the premises without an instant of unnecessary delay."
Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do
things in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully
noting the results. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired
man, had just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he
reported that her injuries were serious, but not necessarily
fatal. The bullet had passed through the front of her brain,
and it would probably be some time before she could regain
consciousness. On the question of whether she had been shot or
had shot herself he would not venture to express any decided
opinion. Certainly the bullet had been discharged at very close
quarters. There was only the one pistol found in the room,
two barrels of which had been emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had
been shot through the heart. It was equally conceivable that he
had shot her and then himself, or that she had been the criminal,
for the revolver lay upon the floor midway between them.
"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes.
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