Mrs. Bourne unlocked the door, and our old friend, Mr. Wrench, entered, in hot haste. He was accompanied by another person, who was a detective from New York.
“What is the meaning of all this, madam?” said Wrench. “Your husband lying senseless, and you alone with him! Please to account for this as best you can.”
Mrs. Bourne briefly explained the conflict that had taken place, and said that the man who had struck her husband threatened to take her life if she opened the door. She wound up by declaring that he had made his escape through the window.
“Foiled!” ejaculated Wrench. “Our man has given us the slip. But no matter, I shall be able to find him.”
“What has he been doing, gentlemen?” inquired Mrs. Bourne.
“We have to arrest him upon the charge of horse-stealing—that’s all,” observed Wrench.
“But my poor husband? Pray see to him at once.”
The two officers lifted up the doctor and placed him on the sofa.
The movement seemed to revive him, for he slowly opened his eyes and exclaimed, in an anxious tone—
“Where is he?”