CHAPTER XXII
The doctor blinked for a moment. The two were leaning forward with alarm in their eyes, their hands gripping the table.
“Well, are we to send for an undertaker?” demanded Hodder irritably.
Brood started forward.
“Is—is he dead?”
“Of course not, but he might as well be!” exclaimed the doctor. It was plain to be seen that he was very much out of patience. “You've called in another doctor and a priest, and now I hear that a Presbyterian parson is in the library. Hang it all, Brood, why don't you send for the coroner and undertaker and have done with it! I'm blessed if I———”
Yvonne came swiftly to his side.
“Is he conscious? Does he know?”
“Hodder, is there any hope?” cried Brood.
“I'll be honest with you, Jim. I don't believe there is. It went in here, above the heart, and it's lodged back here by the spine somewhere. We haven't located it yet, but we will. Had to let up on the ether for a while, you see. He opened his eyes a few minutes ago, Mrs Brood, and my assistant is certain that he whispered Lydia Desmond's name. Sounded that way to him, but, of course———”