It was the card Mount Dunstan had read the day before.
J. BURRIDGE & SON, DELKOFF TYPEWRITER CO. BROADWAY, NEW YORK. G. SELDEN.
“He is probably G. Selden,” said Westholt. “Travelling in the interests of his firm, poor chap. The clue is not of much immediate use, however.”
They were fortunately not far from the house, and Westholt went back quickly to summon servants and send for the village doctor. The Dunholms were kindly sympathetic, and each of the party lent a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. Lord Dunholm helped Miss Vanderpoel to lay the young man down carefully.
“I am afraid,” he said; “I am really afraid his leg is broken. It was twisted under him. What can be done with him?”
Miss Vanderpoel looked at her sister.
“Will you allow him to be carried to the house temporarily, Rosy?” she asked. “There is apparently nothing else to be done.”
“Yes, yes,” said Lady Anstruthers. “How could one send him away, poor fellow! Let him be carried to the house.”
Miss Vanderpoel smiled into Lord Dunholm's much approving, elderly eyes.
“G. Selden is a compatriot,” she said. “Perhaps he heard I was here and came to sell me a typewriter.”