After a time the doctor came. He was an old man, who had worn himself out in the hard practice of a wild country-side. Accidents were his daily experience, and he fell to work in the cool, business-like way acquired by custom.
White and breathless, Austin Ambrose, who had been permitted to remain during the examination, waited for the verdict. It came at last.
"He's not dead," said the old doctor, gravely, "and that's about all that can be said. It was a terrible blow!"
Austin Ambrose's lips contracted, and his eyes sought the old man's weather-beaten face keenly.
"A blow, doctor?" he said, gravely.
"Yes," was the reply; "he was struck on the back of the head, sir."
Austin Ambrose uttered an exclamation.
"Oh, impossible, doctor!" he said. "Who should do such a thing? My poor friend had not an enemy in the world."
"Plunder?" said the old man, questioningly.
Austin Ambrose shook his head.