"It hurts so infernally and aches all the way up. I can't
remember bruising it, though."
"Let me examine it for you," said Greene. "I'm awfully good at bones in
spite of the examiners' opinion to the contrary." It was a relief to
play the fool a bit, and Marriott took his coat off and rolled up his
sleeve.
"By George, though, I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed. "Look here! What on
earth's this?"
On the forearm, quite close to the wrist, was a thin red line. There was
a tiny drop of apparently fresh blood on it. Greene came over and looked
closely at it for some minutes. Then he sat back in his chair, looking
curiously at his friend's face.
"You've scratched yourself without knowing it," he said presently.
"There's no sign of a bruise. It must be something else that made the
arm ache."
Marriott sat very still, staring silently at his arm as though the
solution of the whole mystery lay there actually written upon the skin.
"What's the matter? I see nothing very strange about a scratch," said
Greene, in an unconvincing sort of voice. "It was your cuff links
probably.
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