In the meantime, the other rescuers, who turned out to be Hetherington and Lord Hastings, had taken care of the other Germans. Lord Hastings, leaping across the room at Frank’s heels, had placed one hors du combat with a single blow, and Hetherington, after a brief struggle, had succeeded in overcoming his adversary.
Frank bent over Jack and shook him, but the latter did not open his eyes. Again and again Frank shook him, with the same result. Lord Hastings approached the couch, reached over and lifted Jack’s eyelids with his finger.
“The sleeping sickness!” he ejaculated. “I recognize the symptoms. He must have a physician at once. We must put him in the car and get him to my place quick.”
The unconscious lad was hastily carried to a waiting automobile, and was soon laid on a comfortable bed in Lord Hastings’ home.
“Is he going to die?” asked Frank of Lord Hastings.
“Not necessarily. The sleeping sickness is not always fatal, but his condition is dangerous.”
The physician arrived a few moments later, and after a careful examination, announced that with perfect quiet Jack would live. A little delay, he said, would probably have proven fatal.
For two days Jack hovered between life and death, but upon the third day the physician pronounced him out of danger. Then, for the first time, Frank, who had removed his belongings from the hotel to Lord Hastings’ home to be near, was allowed to see his friend.
“Well, old man,” he said, “you have had a narrow escape.”
“So the doctor told me,” replied Jack.