"No—home," said Selma, who was calm. "He must be taken home."
"The hospital is the place for him," said the doctor.
"No—home," repeated Selma. She glanced at the men standing round. "Tom—Henry—and you, Ed—help me lift him."
"Please, Selma," whispered Jane. "Let him be taken to the hospital."
"Among our enemies?" said Selma with a strange and terrible little laugh. "Oh, no. After this, we trust no one. They may have arranged to finish this night's work there. He goes home—doesn't he, boys?"
"That's right, Miss Gordon," replied one of them.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Here's where I drop the case," said he.
"Nothing of the kind," cried Jane imperiously. "I am Jane Hastings—Martin Hastings' daughter. You will come with us, please—or I shall see to it that you are not let off easily for such a shameful neglect of duty."
"Let him go, Jane," said Selma. "There will be a doctor waiting. And he is only stunned. Come, boys—lift him up."
They laid him on a bench top, softened with the coats of his followers. At the carriage, standing in Farwell Street, they laid him across the two seats. Selma got in with him. Tom Colman climbed to the box beside the coachman. Jane and Miss Clearwater, their escorts and about a score of the Leaguers followed on foot. As the little procession turned into Warner Street it was stopped by a policeman.