Nicky-Nan's head dropped sideways and rattled on the boards.
CHAPTER XXII.
SALVAGE.
"Mister Nanjivell! Mis-ter Nanjivell!"
It was the child 'Beida's voice, calling from below.
"Are you upstairs, Mister Nanjivell? I want to see you—in such a hurry!"
Following up her summons, she arrived panting at the open doorway. "O-oh!" she cried, after a catch of the breath. Her face blanched as she looked around the bedroom; at Builder Gilbert, standing, wash-jug in hand; at Mr Pamphlett, kneeling, examining the cupboard; at Policeman Rat-it-all, kneeling also, but on one knee, while on the other he supported Nicky-Nan's inert head and bathed a cut on the right temple, dipping a rag of a towel into the poor chipped basin on the ground beside him.
"What are you doin' to him?" demanded 'Beida, her colour coming back with a rush.
Mr Pamphlett had slewed about on his knees. "Here, you cut and run!" he commanded sharply. But his posture did not lend itself to authority, and he showed some embarrassment.
"What are you doin' to him?" the child demanded again.