"Mr. Herries is a doctor. He came here, and sucked the stuff from her throat in the nick of time. But for his bravery, my poor Rachel would have been dead." Kind wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, and again looked at Herries. "I'll give my life up to finding the man who killed your uncle, so that you may be saved."
"Can you do that?" asked Herries sadly. "It seems to me that the evidence is so strong----"
"So it is,--so it is. But I have been searching the death-chamber and your room at the inn. I have found other evidence which may be of value."
"Oh!" Herries clenched his hands, eagerly, "what is it?"
"One moment," interposed Browne, in a low voice, so as not to disturb the patient. "Let us do things in order. What about Mrs. Kind?"
"She's all right, and will be much better when she wakes up," said Herries. "The stuff is out of her throat; it's a diphtheritic case."
"What have you done?"
Herries in an undertone rapidly gave details of his treatment, and the other doctor approved with nods.
"She would have been dead, but for you," he said, emphatically. "But how did you manage to escape?"
"Elspeth!" said Herries, and would have explained, but that Kind beckoned them to the far end of the caravan, near the door, and pointed to a couple of stools.