Bertrand lay with closed eyes, his breathing still short and occasionally difficult, but no longer agonized.
There came the sound of flying feet along the corridor, and an impatient hand hammered on the door.
"Hullo, Bertrand! Are you all right? Chris wants to know," shouted a boyish voice.
Bertrand started violently, and a quiver of pain went through him. He fixed his eyes imploringly on Max, who instantly rose to the occasion.
"Of course he's all right. You clear out! We're busy."
"What are you doing?" Keen curiosity sounded in Noel's voice.
"Never mind! We don't want you," came the brotherly rejoinder.
"But I say—"
"Clear out!" ordered Max. "Go and tell Chris that Bertrand is writing a letter to catch the post; which reminds me," he added grimly, "you can also tell Holmes to come and fetch it in a quarter of an hour. Don't forget now. It's important."
He pulled the letter entrusted to his keeping from his pocket and tossed it on to the table.