‘What kind of looking men were they?’
‘Rough fellows with beards. I only saw them when they first passed us at some distance. Oh, my head! Oh damn, how these bites do sting! Get me some ammonia; you’ll find it in a bottle on the dressing-table.’
Mr. Macrae brought him the bottle and a handkerchief. ‘That is all you know?’ he asked.
But Blake was babbling some confusion of verse and prose: his wits were wandering.
Mr. Macrae turned from him, and bade one of the
men watch him. He himself passed downstairs and into the hall, where Lady Bude was standing at the window, gazing to the north.
‘Indeed you must not watch, Lady Bude,’ said the millionaire. ‘Let me persuade you to take something and go to bed. I forget myself; I do not believe that you have dined.’ He himself sat down at the table, he ate and drank, and induced Lady Bude to join him. ‘Now, do let me persuade you to go back and to try to sleep,’ said Mr. Macrae gently. ‘Your husband is well accompanied.’
‘It is not for him that I am afraid,’ said the lady, who was in tears.
‘I must arrange for the day’s work,’ said the millionaire, and Lady Bude sighed and left him.
‘First,’ he said aloud, ‘we must get the doctor from Lairg to see Blake. Over forty miles.’ He rang. ‘Benson,’ he said to the butler, ‘order the tandem for seven. The yacht to have steam up at the same hour. Breakfast at half-past six.’