“Gone? What do you mean?”
“I sat up watching him till I could not keep my eyes open. Then I lay down, and when I awoke this morning the window was open, and he had escaped.”
“Impossible!” cried Captain Murray angrily.
“Humph! I don’t know so much about that, Murray,” said the doctor, after indulging in a grunt. “The young rascal was gammoning us last night, pretending to be so bad.”
“But there was no deceit about the wound.”
“Not a bit, man; but he was making far more fuss about it than was real. It was only a clean cut, especially where I divided the skin and let out the ball. By George! though, the young rascal could bear a bit of pain.”
“But do you mean to tell me that he could escape alone with a wound like that to disable his arm?”
“Oh yes. It would hurt him terribly; but a lad with plenty of courage would grin and bear that, and get away all the same. I’m glad of it.”
“What! Glad the prisoner has escaped?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said the doctor. “I mean glad he had so much stuff in him. It was a clever bit of acting, and shows that he must have the nerve of a strong man. I beg his pardon, for last night I thought him as weak as a girl for making so much fuss over a mere scratch. It was all sham, that insensibility. I knew in a moment—you remember I said so to you when we went away.”