“Here, parson!” he yelled; “this man’s—”
He did not finish, for North’s teeth grated together, and he tightened his grasp so firmly that Tom Candlish’s head sank back, his battered face elongated, and he lay perfectly still, feeling quite at the mercy of his enemy.
North ended his examination by literally thrusting Tom Candlish back upon his pillow in a way which made Salis stare.
“He will not hurt, save to do plenty more mischief, Salis. Look here; have you sent for Dr Benson?”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler wonderingly.
“Your master will be all right till he comes. Tell Dr Benson that I only came in upon the emergency. I have nothing to do with the case.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“And,” said North savagely, and evidently for Tom Candlish to hear, “if your master wishes to commit suicide, put that brandy decanter by his side. He smells of it now like poison. Come along, Salis.”
“You think him fit to be left?”
“Fit to be left!” cried North, whose uneasy conscience was now at rest. “Here: come away.”