“Very well,” said Crampton. “Get him and send him on.”
The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man’s face, when he heard the doctor’s step.
“Hah!” said the latter, after a brief examination, “we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton.”
“Is he much hurt, sir?”
“Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?”
“Or thief, sir,” said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. “My dear master! what would his poor father have said?”
“Hush! Be firm, man,” said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. “Does Mrs Van Heldre know?” Crampton shook his head. “I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once.”
“But she must be told.”
“John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine.”
Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man.