“Of course,” the girl answered. “I’ll go to the police station in Cleeve Road—it’s only five minutes—and they will look after you in no time.”
This was not what Cheyne wanted. He had not yet decided whether he would call in the police and he was too much upset at the moment to consider the point. In the meantime, therefore, it would be better if nothing was said.
“Please not,” he begged. “Just send a taxi to take me to a hospital.”
The girl hesitated, then replied: “All right. Let me see first if I can make you a bit more comfortable.”
The effort of speaking and thinking had so overcome Cheyne that he sank back once more into a state of coma, and it was only half consciously that he felt his head being lifted and some soft thing like a folded coat being placed beneath. Then the girl’s pleasant voice said: “Now just stay quiet and I shall have a taxi here in a moment.” A further period of waiting ensued and he felt himself being lifted and carried a few steps. A jolting then began which so hurt his head that he fainted again, and for still further interminable ages he remembered no more.
When he finally regained his faculties he found himself in bed, physically more comfortable than he could have believed possible, but utterly exhausted. He was content to lie motionless, not troubling as to where he was or how he came there. Presently he fell asleep and when he woke he plucked up energy enough to open his eyes.
It was light and he saw that he was in hospital. Several other beds were in the ward and a nurse was doing something at the end of the room. Presently she came over, saw that he was awake, and smiled at him.
“Better?” she said cheerily.
“I think so,” he answered weakly. “Where am I, nurse?”
“In the Albert Edward Hospital. You’ve had a nasty knock on your head, but you’re going to be all right. Now you’re to keep quiet and not talk.”