I found him looking very pale, but Linny was not visible; and then I told him about Revitts’ state.
“It’s very strange,” he exclaimed. “Linny came home in trouble last night. She said some man had insulted her, and when she called for help a policeman ran up; and she left them struggling together while she made her escape and came home.”
“Then it must have been Revitts who helped her,” I said; and I then told him that I wanted to stay with the poor fellow.
“I’ll arrange all that for you, Antony,” he said quietly; and I made the best of my way back to Caroline Street, to find that poor Revitts had not moved, only kept on muttering where he had been laid by the doctor; and I took the watcher’s place, made tea for him, and spoke to him again and again, but without result.
The police surgeon came soon after with the inspector I had seen, asked me a few questions as he examined the injuries, and then I saw him tighten his lips.
“Hadn’t he better be taken to the infirmary, sir?” the inspector asked.
“No,” was the reply; “he must not be moved.” Then, turning to me: “You had better get some one to come and nurse him, my lad,” he said; “mother, sister, or somebody. I’ll call in again in the evening.”
I knew from this that the poor fellow must be seriously hurt, and had I wanted confirmation, I had it in the delirious mutterings that now came from his lips.
I sat by him in great trouble, wondering what I should do, when the doctor I had fetched called in, who, on learning that the divisional surgeon had been, nodded his satisfaction and turned to go.
“Please tell me, sir,” I said, “is he very, very bad?”