“I knew no good would come of it,” he muttered. “I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?” he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man’s ear.
There was no reply; just a spasm and a twitching of the hands.
“What shall I do?” thought Crampton. “Give the alarm? No; only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor.”
He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night.
“Eh? Van Heldre?” he said. “Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?”
“Yes.”
Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back.
The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words “Police Station” over the door.
“Where is your husband?” said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman.
“On his rounds, sir.”