"Pity you weren't quick enough to nab him, sir!"
He went down upon his knee and turned the light of his lantern upon the ghastly face.
"H'm! Young, and a spanker to look at, I should say! Wonder if it was robbery? Is she dead, sir?"
"No." The Doctor laid her gently down, his practiced hand over the heart. "No; she's not dead. The blow was aimed at her heart, but something in her dress—a corset, probably—turned the weapon aside. Call me a cab, somebody. You're off duty, I think, sergeant—can you come with me?"
"I am, sir. Always happens so when there's anything doing," muttered the sergeant, discontentedly. "Here's another of our people that ain't, though," as a second sergeant forced his way through the group, followed by a constable. "Baxter, you'd best step round and report this little job, and not lose any time about it, either. It's attempted murder—that's what the game is. Chap made off as if he'd got springs in his heels."
The second officer bent down as the first had done, glanced at the bloodless face, asked a question or two, and started off at a smart pace, the fringe of the crowd hurrying after him.
The Doctor looked at his companion, repeating:
"Can you come with me? I may want assistance."
"With pleasure, sir! You'll take her to the hospital, I suppose?"
"No. My house is nearer; and, unless the wound is looked to at once, I don't answer for the consequences. There is no objection, I suppose?"