He gave the stopper a sharp twist, there was a cracking sound, a cry from Miss Clifford, and a pungent odour filled the room as the contents of the bottle gushed over the carpet. The neck was broken away, and the jagged glass had cut a deep, ugly gash across the base of Roger's thumb. Blood welled up freely from the wound.
"Oh; how dreadful! I'm so distressed! What shall we do?"
The old lady gazed about distractedly, while her nephew regarded the pool of blood forming in his hand.
"Get my handkerchief out of my trousers pocket, will you?"
"Here, take mine. Don't stir—I'll call Miss Rowe; she'll know what to do. That beastly bottle; it's all my fault!"
In her flurry she entered her brother's bedroom without knocking, calling out:
"Miss Rowe, can you come quickly? My nephew has had a horrid accident here."
"Accident?"
"Yes; will you give us a hand?"
Esther was leaning over the bed on the opposite side from the doctor, who had that moment administered an injection to the patient. She straightened up and stared in alarm at Miss Clifford, holding in her hand the hypodermic needle she had just taken mechanically from the doctor.