CHAPTER XXXII
THE SECRET OF MR. SABIN’S NIECE
At the sound of his cry, Helène, who had been crossing the hall, threw open the door just as Mr. Sabin’s fingers were upon the key. Seeing that he was powerless to keep from her the knowledge of what had happened, he did not oppose her entrance. She glided into the centre of the room with a stifled cry of terror. Together, she and Mr. Sabin bent over Wolfenden’s motionless figure. Mr. Sabin unfastened the waistcoat and felt his heart. She did not speak until he had held his hand there for several seconds, then she asked a question.
“Have you killed him?”
Mr. Sabin shook his head and smiled gently.
“Too tough a skull by far,” he said. “Can you get a basin and a towel without any one seeing you?”
She nodded, and fetched them from her own room. The water was fresh and cold, and the towel was of fine linen daintily hemmed, and fragrant with the perfume of violets. Yet neither of these things, nor the soft warmth of her breathing upon his cheek, seemed to revive him in the least. He lay quite still in the same heavy stupor. Mr. Sabin stood upright and looked at him thoughtfully. His face had grown almost haggard.
“We had better send for a doctor,” she whispered fiercely. “I shall fetch one myself if you do not!”