There was a pause, and then, in a weary way:
“I don’t know—I can’t recollect. Everything’s going round. Yes, I know: I heard a little girl call out for help, and I saw a fellow dragging her towards an open door, and I went at him.”
“Yes, Bill. Well?”
“That’s all. I don’t know anything else. Oh, my head, my head!”
“But did he hit you?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so, and I went down,” he groaned; “and I don’t know any—any more, but I should know that fellow out of a thousand, and—”
He began muttering to himself, and as I bent over him I fancied I made out the word “staff,” but all else was unintelligible, and the poor fellow sank into a heavy sleep which seemed likely to last.
Soon after seven I got the landlady to come and sit with him while I ran to the police-station, and told the inspector on duty about Revitts’ state.
“There,” he exclaimed to another officer, “I told you so. He’s too steady a fellow to have gone wrong. All right, my man, I’ll send on the surgeon, and we’ll see what’s to be done. You don’t know how it was?”
I told him all I knew, and then ran on to Hallett’s to ask him to get me excused at the office.