"Get this feller up to his room," said H.M. "He's hurt bad. Come on." As Agnew hurried over, he scowled at Courtney and went on. "I'll have a look at Mrs. Fane, just in case."
"Now then," said Masters, "what's all this? What's been going on, Mr. Courtney?"
When Courtney started to tell him, Masters walked across to the sofa. He went round it, studying. From the floor behind the sofa he picked up a heavy rough-stonework jar, whose surface would have held no fingerprints but which must have weighed ten or twelve pounds and would have made a murderous weapon. Masters weighed it in his hand.
Courtney, however, did not waste much time in telling his story. He raced upstairs after H.M.
There was a babble of voices in the upstairs hall. Mrs. Propper and Daisy, muffled up in extra clothing as though they would have to leave a house on fire, were excitedly pouring out to Ann a story which was far from clear.
"Here's the big doctor!" howled Mrs. Propper, clutching at H.M. as he passed. "You go in there, sir. You go and see Mrs. Fane!"
"Now, now, lemme alone! For cat's sake lemme alone. I…"
H.M. went into the front bedroom. Stripping off the waterproof, he bent over Vicky Fane. He picked up one limp wrist and took her pulse. He ran his fingers lightly from under the ears down along the line of the jaws, and round the neck. He lifted one eyelid and looked at the iris. Though his manner seemed more malevolent than ever, yet Courtney felt that a shadow had passed from his face, and that he breathed more easily.
"Wen?" Courtney demanded. "What is it? What's wrong with her?" "Nothing."
"Nothing?" cried Ann.