2.

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As soon as I entered the room my eyes fell on the man’s right hand, for wrapped around it was a very blood-stained handkerchief. Other than this the man looked to have no other injuries, but he was very pale, which I thought might be due to blood loss.

“I’m sorry to wake you, doctor” the man said, “but I need medical care. My name is Hatherley. Victor Hatherley. Sorry I cannot shake your hand, but as you can see, I’m afraid I’ve lost my thumb.”

I carefully removed the handkerchief bandage from Mr. Hatherley’s hand and shuddered at the sight of the place where a thumb ought to be. “Good heavens! This is a nasty injury, Mr. Hatherley. You must have lost a lot of blood.”

I poured some water into a glass and added a dash of brandy. Mr. Hatherley downed it in one, and it brought back a little colour to his face.

I began tending the wound as best I could.

“What on earth happened?” I asked.

“A cleaver,” he said.

“An unfortunate accident, then,” I replied.

“No, no,” said Mr. Hatherley. “It was no accident. Someone tried to kill me.”