“Yes, poor lad,” the officer said. “When I look at his face I confess my sympathies are all with him rather than with the man he killed.”
“I don't think he killed him,” the doctor said quietly. “I am almost sure he didn't.”
“You don't say so!” the chief constable said, surprised. “I had not the least doubt about it.”
“No. Nobody seems to have the least doubt about it,” the doctor said bitterly. “I am almost sure that he had nothing to do with it; but if he did it it was when he was in a state of such passion that he was practically irresponsible for his actions. At any rate, I am prepared to swear that his mind is unhinged at present. I will go back now and fetch two or three books and will then sit by him. He needs watching.”
For several hours the doctor sat reading by Ned's bedside. From time to time he leaned over the lad, listened to his breathing, felt his pulse, and occasionally lifted his eyelid. After one of these examinations, late in the afternoon, he rose with a sigh of relief, pulled down the blinds, gently drew the curtains, and then, taking his books, went down and noiselessly closed the door after him.
“Thank God! he will do now,” he said to the chief constable; “but it has been a very near squeak, and I thought several times I should have to take immediate steps to wake him. However, the effects are passing off, and he will soon be in a natural sleep. Pray let the house be kept as quiet as possible, and let no one go near him. The chances are he will sleep quietly till morning.”
The doctor called again the last thing that evening, but was told that no stir had been heard in Ned's room, and the same report met him when he came again next morning.
“That is capital,” he said. “Let him sleep on. He has a long arrears to make up. I shall not be going out today; please send in directly he wakes.”
“Very well,” the officer replied. “I will put a man outside his door, and the moment a move is heard I will let you know.”