Old Mahaffy remarked gruffly that that was apparently as unusual as usual in that way; but as he tripped something seemed to strike him and smother him, and he woke up to find himself on the shale bank with his leg doubled under him. He was too sick to move, or he'd have gone over into the sea, so he bawled until someone heard him.
Something, Gheena could not have told what, made her look sharply at Basil Stafford. He was staring at the doctor, his face tense and strained, with an anxious look in his tired eyes.
Violet Weston rustled her noisy underskirts across the room to Gheena; she moved trippingly, because her shoes generally hurt her feet, and whispered in Gheena's ear.
"Up all night," she said. "He let it out. Could there be any connection?"
The flush faded from Basil Stafford's face; he grew pale and his lips set bitterly.
"Well, it's a job for you, Keefe," he said, "to go and investigate, and I'll come with you. The cliffs are all overgrown above the shale bank, but the path is clear at the edge."
"He turned in through the furry bushes to take that way to his house," said the doctor. "I left him grand and cosy now. I will take some tea surely, Mrs. Freyne, for I am cold and tired. I'm getting an old man for that two-wheeled motor of mine."
"You must have some fresh," said Mrs. Freyne; "this would be stewed. Don't you think so, Dearest? And, besides, there isn't any. I remember the last cup I poured out was not really there at all."
"And in the name of Goodness, Lancelot," burst out the doctor, "didn't I tell you to use that foot and not be getting an atrophy in your leg from pasting it up on cushions?"
Lancelot, flushing, observed haughtily that the pain was too intense, and leant back as one who considers a matter fully discussed.