“You think so?”
“Oh, dear me, I feel assured of it. You need not be under any apprehension. He’ll soon be himself again, but we must now look after our man—that is the next duty we have to perform.”
“You allude to his assailant, I presume?”
“Precisely—to the man Rawton. It will be joyful news to you, I expect, when you hear of his arrest.”
“It’s an unfortunate business, Mr. Wrench—very unfortunate. Rawton was not so very much to blame.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Shearman. “The attack was not made for the purpose of robbery, then?”
“Dear me, no. There was a dispute—a wrangle—and words were used, and the doctor struck him first.”
“Oh, oh!” cried Shearman, glancing at Wrench.
“It does not matter,” returned the latter. “He is wanted—is charged with horse-stealing; this assault is only a secondary sort of affair, but of course it will have to be inquired into when we get our man. Did you see which way he went, madam, after he got out of the window?”
This last query was addressed to Mrs. Bourne.