A quarter of an hour passed, and the man still lay there without moving.

The Doctor rose and went close to him.

He could not even hear him breathe.
His flesh began to creep, but his brows contracted, and his face grew firm.

He went boldly up, and pulled down the blanket, and then, to his horror and amazement, recognised the distorted countenance of the unfortunate William Lee.
He covered the face over again, and stood thinking of his situation, and how this had come to pass.

How came Lee here, and how had he met his death?
At this moment something bright, half hidden by a blue shirt lying on the floor, caught his eye, and, going to pick it up, he found it was a beautiful pistol, mounted in silver, and richly chased.
He turned it over and over till in a lozenge behind the hammer he found, apparently scratched with a knife, the name, "G.