"Oh, he is still alive," Wilfrid said dubiously. "But how long he is likely to last is another matter. And now, if you will promise not to get unduly excited, I will tell you everything that has happened since I put you in the cab. You will be interested."
Uzali listened with rapt attention to what Wilfrid had to say. He even expressed his satisfaction at the knowledge that things were no worse with Samuel Flower.
"So far, so good," he said. "And now, perhaps, I had better tell you my story. It is shorter than yours and not so dramatic. In the square I fell foul of those countrymen of mine, never doubting for a moment but that they would recognize me and my authority. Perhaps they took me for some imposter, perhaps they lost their heads in the darkness. Anyway, they attacked me in a most murderous fashion before I had the slightest chance of explaining; hence the fact that you found me in the square nearly done for. Mind you, if this had happened a week ago I would not have interfered, but have allowed matters to take their own course. But now things are different. They have changed altogether."
It was a long time before Uzali spoke again. He lay there with his eyes closed as if asleep or dreaming.
CHAPTER XXX
A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING
Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was so short that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to raise the money, but no information had come from him, and in such cases no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon. The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed, yet ready to strike at another man, who, on two occasions had risked his life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little Easterns to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower altogether. Still, there was a chance yet, and Wilfrid meant to take advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.
Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole, than Wilfrid had expected. Shelton's operation had been partially successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.
"You haven't very much to do," Shelton explained. "The nurse I have chosen will be here at any moment and she will take your place. You will find certain medicines upstairs which you will know what to do with."
Shelton departed hurriedly, after the manner of his kind, and Wilfrid made his way to the sick room. Beatrice followed him fearfully with a whispered request to be permitted to see how the injured man was, and Wilfrid had not the heart to refuse.