Paul Cremarre stood on the threshold.
"It is not Runnells," said the Frenchman, staring at the bed. "I used my key. I saw Runnells and another man go out a few minutes ago."
"You, Paul!" exclaimed Captain Francis Newcombe quickly. "I did not expect you to return from France until to-morrow. I thought Runnells had forgotten something and come back. That was the doctor with him. Runnells has gone out for supplies. They've only just brought me back from Cloverley's this morning, and the place here was pretty well cleaned out of necessities."
The Frenchman moved over to the bedside, and grasped Captain Francis Newcombe's hand.
"Monsieur," he said earnestly, "I am desolated to see you like this. How am I to tell you of my gratitude? How am I to tell you what I owe you? We would have been caught. In two or three more little minutes, Runnells and I would have been pouf!"
"That seemed rather obvious," said Captain Francis Newcombe dryly.
"Bon Dieu!" ejaculated the Frenchman. "Yes! I heard from Runnells, of course—the whole story in code. There is only one man who would have done that. I, Paul Cremarre, will never forget it. Never! And I say again that I am desolated to see you like this. Runnells said your eyes were very badly injured."
"That is Runnells' lack of balance in the use of English," said the ex-captain of territorials. "There is nothing whatever the matter with my eyes. If I am blind for the moment, it is because my eyelids are kept shut by some damned medical method of torture, and because of this bandage. When I took a header into the broken windshield, I got a bit of a cut that beginning with the bridge of my nose had a go straight across on each side just under the eyebrows. They've made a bit of a fuss over it, wouldn't let me come home until now, and I must still be tucked up in bed, but—"
"It is more than you make out," said the Frenchman gravely. "I know that. But that your eyes are saved—that is luck!"
"Quite so!" Captain Francis Newcombe shrugged his shoulders. "And you?—speaking of luck."