The lodge-keeper was white and speechless as he helped the injured girl into the parlor of the lodge, while the reporter drew the only comfortable piece of furniture in the room, an antique lounge, toward the front windows and arranged a tattered pillow at its head.
“There is a doctor not far from here?” asked Benedict, turning to the lodge-keeper and giving him a penetrating glance. There was something in Rudolph’s manner that struck the quick-witted reporter as peculiar.
“Half a mile down the road,” answered Rudolph, his voice unsteady.
“Get into the carriage and bring him here at once,” ordered Benedict, sharply, noting instantly the reluctance Rudolph’s manner expressed. Kate Strong also noticed her retainer’s hesitation.
“Do as this gentleman directs, Rudolph,” she commanded; and the lodge-keeper, seeing no alternative at hand, turned and left the room with hesitating steps.
“Pardon me, Miss Strong,” remarked Benedict, stationing himself at a window from which he could see the roadway, “your man is a foreigner?”
“Yes,” answered Kate. “He is a Rexanian, I believe.” Her reply caused the reporter to regret for the moment that he had allowed the lodge-keeper to leave his sight. Of what significance was a girl with a sprained ankle, compared with the greatest newspaper “beat” of the year?