And then, at the instant when P.
Sybarite was noting with relief that the stain showed both in back and
in front, the telephone shrilled.
"If you don't mind answering that--" grunted Mr. Kenny.
P. Sybarite was already at the instrument.
"Yes?" he answered. "Dr. Higgins?"
"Sorry, sir," replied a strange voice: "Dr. Higgins isn't in yet. Any
message?"
"Tell him Mr. Kenny needs him at the Monastery, and the matter's
urgent.... Doctor not in," he reported superfluously, returning to cut
away collar, tie, shirt, and undershirt. "Never mind, I shouldn't be
surprised if we could manage to do without him, after all."
"Meaning it's not so bad--?"
"Meaning," said the other, exposing the naked shoulder, "I'm beginning
to hope you've had a marvellously narrow escape."
"Feels like it," said Kenny, ironic.
P. Sybarite withheld response while he made close examination. At the
base of Mr. Kenny's neck, well above the shoulder-blade, dark blood
was welling slowly from an ugly puncture. And in front there was a
corresponding puncture, but smaller. And presently his deft and gentle
fingers, exploring the folds of the boy's undershirt, closed upon the
bullet itself.
"I don't believe," he announced, displaying his find, "you deserve
such luck. Somehow you managed to catch this just right for it to slip
through without either breaking bone or severing artery.
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