McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. “Very well,” he said. A. At this moment, Blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with his knife. E. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table.
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