Together she and Jimmy reached the car, Loraine behind them.
Jimmy peered under the hood. Bill was sitting as he had left him, leaning back. But his eyes were closed and Jimmy's pull at his arm brought no response.
"I can't understand it," muttered Jimmy. "But he's not dead. Cheer up, Bundle. Look here, we've got to get him into the house. Let's pray to goodness no policeman comes along. If anybody says anything, he's our sick friend we're helping into the house."
Between the three of them they got Bill into the house without much difficulty, and without attracting much attention, save for an unshaven gentleman, who said sympathetically:
"Genneman's 'ad a couple, I shee," and nodded his head sapiently.
"Into the little back room downstairs," said Jimmy. "There's a sofa there."
They got him safely on to the sofa and Bundle knelt down beside him and took his limp wrist in her hand.
"His pulse is beating," she said. "What is the matter with him?"
"He was all right when I left him just now," said Jimmy. "I wonder if someone's managed to inject some stuff into him. It would be easily done—just a prick. The man might have been asking him the time. There's only one thing for it. I must get a doctor at once. You stay here and look after him."
He hurried to the door, then paused.