A low moan escaped the sufferer as he was lifted with difficulty upon the rough settee, and this being done, the constable renewed his request.
“Now, Miss, it’s a thing as wants doing at once. Call help.”
“Hold up his head,” was the quick imperious reply; and as the man obeyed, he saw to his surprise the girl go quickly to the row of shelves at one side of the room, take down a labelled bottle, remove the stopper, and pour some of its contents into a graduated glass. To this she added a portion of the contents of another bottle, taking them down, replacing stoppers, and proceeding in the most matter-of-fact, businesslike way, as if accustomed to the task, and returning to try and trickle a little fluid between the patient’s lip, supplementing it by bathing his temples.
This done, she ran to a drawer, to return with a roll and scissors; then getting sponge, water, and basin, and proceeding deftly to bathe and strap up the bleeding wound, before turning to her assistant, who looked dim, as the fog seemed to have filtered into the room. “Now,” she said sharply, “is there some one injured in that room?”
“Yes, Miss; but stop. I will have help now,” said the constable hoarsely. “You shan’t go in there!”
At that moment, as the man stepped before the consulting-room door, there was the quick rattle of a latch-key heard faintly from the front-door, and as the opening door affected that of the surgery, and made it swing slightly and creak, the girl ran to it.
“Here, Hendon! quick!”
There was a heavy step in the passage, and a young man, who looked flushed, hurried into the surgery, hat in hand, his ulster over his arm.
“What’s the matter?” he said thickly. The constable directed at him a sharp glance.
“I don’t know. Look! My father attacked, and—Oh? Hendon, pray, pray see!”