"Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn't prove it, anyhow. But
what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like
that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in
trouble? What sort of a game is that--eh?"

I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. "Give
me the water!" he gasped.

"You're precious near your end, my friend, but I don't want you
to go till I have had a word with you. That's why I give you
water. There, don't slop it about! That's right. Can you
understand what I say?"

Holmes groaned.

"Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones," he whispered.
"I'll put the words out of my head--I swear I will. Only cure
me, and I'll forget it."

"Forget what?"

"Well, about Victor Savage's death. You as good as admitted just
now that you had done it. I'll forget it."

"You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don't see
you in the witnessbox. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes,
I assure you. It matters nothing to me that you should know how
my nephew died. It's not him we are talking about. It's you."

"Yes, yes."