At the door of Room 67, the nurse paused. She smiled apologetically at Doyle.
“Do you mind waiting outside?” she requested. “The Major expressly requested that he wished to see Mr. Evans alone.”
CHAPTER VII
A HINT TO THE WISE
As Flash entered the bedroom, a stocky, middle-aged man in a captain’s uniform, turned to face him. He regarded the young man with an alert, penetrating gaze.
Major Hartgrove, his head and leg swathed in bandages, sat in a wheel chair by the window. He too appraised the visitor.
“You wished to see me, sir?” Flash inquired.
The Major nodded. “Captain Johns,” he said gruffly, “this is the young man I was telling you about. The photographer who pulled me out of the wreck. Your name—”
“Evans. Jimmy Evans.”
“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” Captain Ernest Johns spoke cordially and extended his hand. “So sorry I must be going. Another appointment. You will excuse me?”
Without waiting for a reply, he departed, carefully closing the door behind him. Clearly the speedy leave-taking had been prearranged.