So cool was his utterance, so perfectly free from agitation his demeanour, that Olga wondered if she could have heard aright. Then she saw him go to the table and prepare to remove his coat, and she knew that there could be no mistake.
The frozen horror of the past few seconds fell from her, and strength came in its place—the strength born of emergency. "I shall help you better than Nick," she said.
"If you don't faint," said Max.
She spoke a reassuring word to Cork and let him go. He moved away at once in uneasy search for his mistress, and she turned round to Max. Nick was already helping him out of his coat.
The storm had lulled somewhat, and the gloom had begun to lighten. As she drew near him she saw his right arm emerge from the coat. The shirt-sleeve was soaked with blood from shoulder to cuff.
"It's the top of the shoulder," said Max. "Only a flesh wound. Make a wet pad of one of those table-napkins and bind it up tight. I'll go back to the cottage-hospital presently and get it dressed."
With the utmost calmness he issued his directions, and Olga found herself obeying almost mechanically. Nick helped her to cut away the shirt and expose the wound. It was a deep one, and had been inflicted from the back.
"Quite a near shave," said Max, with composure. "That flash of lightning came just in time. I saw the reflection in one of those oak panels."
"Will this stop the bleeding?" asked Olga doubtfully.
"Yes, if you get the pressure on the right place. Pull it hard! That's the way! Don't mind me!" He was speaking through clenched teeth. "I daresay Nick knows all about first aid."