“Might have expected to find us there when he came-to, any way,” Laura insisted.
Lenora smiled faintly as she caught a glance from Quest.
“Laura’s got a heart somewhere,” she murmured, “only it takes an awful lot of getting at!”…
They found French, already convalescent, comfortably installed in the private ward of a small hospital in the picturesque New Mexican town. Laura almost at once established herself by his side.
“You’re going to lose your job here, nurse,” Quest told her, smiling.
The nurse glanced at French.
“The change seems to be doing him good, any way,” she remarked. “I haven’t seen him look so bright yet.”
“Can you remember anything about the wreck, French?” Quest enquired.
The Inspector passed his hand wearily over his forehead.
“It seems more like a dream—or rather a nightmare—than anything,” he admitted. “I was sitting opposite Craig when the crash came. I was unconscious for a time. When I came to, I was simply pinned down by the side of the car. I could see a man working hard to release me, tugging and straining with all his might. Every now and then I got a glimpse of his face. It seemed queer, but I could have sworn it was Craig. Then other people passed by. I heard the shriek of a locomotive. I could see a doctor bending over some bodies. Then it all faded away and came back again. The second time I was nearly free. The man who had been working so hard was just smashing the last bit of timber away, and again I saw his face and that time I was sure that it was Craig. Anyway, he finished the job. I suddenly felt I could move my limbs. The man stood up as though exhausted, looked at me, called to the doctor, and then he seemed to fade away. It might have been because I was unconscious myself, for I don’t remember anything else until I found myself in bed.”