“You’ll do now,” he said. “Narrow escape of losing your hair, young fellow. Next time you come from sea don’t touch the drink.”
Mark Heath lay back thinking, and with the puzzle pretty well fitted together now all but what had happened since, half wild with exhaustion and excitement, he had taken refuge at Doctor Chartley’s.
“Don’t touch the drink!” he muttered. “He thinks I have had D.T. Well, I did drink—brandy. I had some. Yes; I remember now—at the doctor’s, and—Great Heavens!”
He paused, with his hands pressed to his forehead; and now the light had come back clearly.
He lay waiting till the nurse passed round again, and he signed to her to come to his side.
“You have sent to my sister?”
“Yes; a messenger has been sent.”
“My clothes?” he said, in an eager whisper. “Where are they?”
“They have been taken care of quite safely.”
“And the bag, and the belt—the cash-belt I had strapped round my waist?”