He shook his head, while the other man gave a short laugh.
“He’s done for, guv’nor,” said he curtly. “Sorry if I went too far, but it’s always dangerous work to put your nose into other people’s business.”
Freda was on her knees beside the fallen man.
“He’s alive,” she cried triumphantly. “Make haste, oh, make haste, and we shall be able to save him!”
“Him? Yes,” said her father gruffly and dubiously. “But how about ourselves? His safety is our danger, child; don’t you understand?”
“But, father, you wouldn’t have him murdered! Oh, if it is true you care for me—and you do, you do—tell that man to help you; and take him in! Do this for me, as you would have done it for my mother.”
Captain Mulgrave hesitated. Then he tried to speak in a peremptory and angry voice, but broke down. Turning at last sharply to the assailant, who had been watching him with hungry intentness, he made a gesture towards the wounded man.
“Here, Crispin, help me—to take him in. We must obey the ladies,” he said with a hoarse and almost tremulous attempt at levity.
The grin died out of the lean and withered face, and Freda caught upon it an expression of so much baulked malignity that she wondered whether succour at these unwilling hands would mean death to the succoured one. There was nothing for her to do but to watch, however, while her father, with a skilful hand, tore his own shirt into bandages, with which he stopped the flow of blood from the wounded man’s side. Then, giving the word to start, he and his unwilling assistant lifted the still unconscious man and began the difficult journey to the Abbey.