He signed to a man acting as sentry by one of the doors well aft, and the man drew back while Frewen brushed by the scoundrel who held it open, and entered quickly, I following ready to do everything I could to help.
I entered that cabin fully expecting to see Miss Denning lying bleeding on the floor, and I am sure that this was Mr Frewen’s impression; but to the surprise of both it was a totally different person, for there lay the captain in one corner, his head slightly raised, staring at us wildly as he held one hand pressed to his shoulder, and his eyes were so fixed that for the moment I was ready to think that he was passing away. But a faint smile came upon his face as he looked up at the doctor, and then he smiled at me.
I darted a look full of horror and sympathy at him, and then closed the door, while as I turned I saw that the woodwork side of the cabin was marked by a bullet, for so I took it to be, which had splintered the board all round a good-sized hole.
Mr Frewen went down on one knee by the captain, and took the hand which rested on his shoulder, pressed it, and then began to examine the injury.
“Come and help me, Dale,” he said; “we must get him in a different position.”
“Perhaps—I can help,” said the captain faintly. “The scoundrel shot me.”
“Don’t try to talk,” said Mr Frewen, quickly. “Wait till I have bandaged the wound.”
But as he spoke I noticed how he watched Captain Berriman, and seemed to take special heed of him as he whispered the above words evidently with pain.
“Is it very bad, doctor?” he whispered now after Mr Frewen had been busy about his breast, and shoulder for a few minutes. “You can tell me, I can bear it.”
“Bad enough, but not so bad as it might have been if it had gone an inch lower. But keep quiet, talking will only distress you, and tend to make you feverish. There,” he said at last, “there will be no more bleeding, and that was the only danger to apprehend.”