“I will go with you,” Mrs. Dudley decided.
And, locking the house, they went out into the early evening darkness.
The physician was awaiting them in his office.
“Is he badly hurt?” asked Polly anxiously. “What does he want to see me for?”
“We are afraid of internal injury,” was the grave answer. “He was on his way to you when the car struck him.”
“To me?” Polly exclaimed.
“He was fetching a little box that belonged to your mother. Do you recollect it—a small rosewood box?”
“Oh, yes!” she cried. “I’d forgotten all about it—there’s a wreath of tiny pearl flowers on the cover!”
The Doctor nodded.
“Mr. Bean seems to attach great value to the box or its contents.”