“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Haldane the decisive.
The fast-trotting nag pulled up at the “Golden Crown” just within the hour of their start.
“Good-day, Smith,” said Wagram as the landlord appeared. “How is your guest—the one who got bowled over by a motor?”
“Well, Mr Wagram, I couldn’t say exactly. But,” lowering his voice, “the doctor says he’ll hardly last till night.”
“Poor fellow. I came to see if I could do anything for him. He called on us about some business, you know, when he was here before.”
“He’ll be glad to see you, I know, Mr Wagram. I’ve just been sitting with him a bit, and he was talking a lot about you—asking if you were at home, and all that. Come upstairs.”
He led the way, and they ascended to the first landing, Haldane bringing up the rear. A tap at the door, then the landlord opened it.
“Here’s Mr Wagram come to see you, Mr Hunt,” he announced.
The room was somewhat darkened, but not much. Wagram made out a form half propped up in bed. The red-brown face of the adventurer was of a sallow paleness. He heard the door softly close behind him.
“It’s good of you to come and see me, Wagram,” he began. “Hallo! Who’s with you?”