Explore "The Final Count" by H.C. McNeile on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Robin Gaunt! It was his blood-soaked handkerchief that lay in front of us. He too had been thrown into the same cellar where we had spent the night. And where was he now?
I picked up the handkerchief, and a sudden wave of bitterness swept over me. I pictured him, wounded -- perhaps dying -- scrawling his message down there in the darkness, whilst outside men said vile things about him and papers fanned the flame.