Bates raised the lamp, and peering through the door I saw a figure sitting huddled on the step that led down into the underground passage.
“Welfare!” Edmund exclaimed.
I recognised Welfare’s slab of a face, blanched and shrunken. A blood-soaked scarf was knotted round his head. One side of his face, his neck, and one shoulder, were plastered with blood congealed in jelly-like masses.
“Are they gone?” he asked again.
“Yes, long ago,” said Edmund stooping down to raise him.
“That’s all right then,” Welfare answered. “Steady; I’ve been faint for a bit, losing blood from a cut in the head. Bleeding’s stopped now I think, but I don’t want to start it again. Let me get on my knees. That’s it.”
Slowly and painfully on hands and knees he crawled into the cellar, and managed to sit on the floor. I had not known a man could lose so much blood and live. I feared I should be sick, and I saw the bishop’s face turn grey, but he did not speak.
“Let’s have a look,” said Edmund quietly, busying himself with the knot in the scarf.
“Three or four stitches,” said Welfare, “will stop it breaking out again. You’ll find a doctor’s bent needle and some gut in the little case in my right-hand pocket. Then you can wash it, and cut away these clothes. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”
“Hadn’t he better have some brandy?” I asked.