“But he was lying back as I had left him, on a lounge, and I returned to the fellow I had brought up. I gave the man brandy, took a glass myself, and, before utilising the help I had brought, purposely sprinkled the wounded man with spirit—a hint being sufficient to direct the helper’s thoughts into the channel that this person he was to help to the cab was a victim to delirium tremens, for the face was evidence enough.
“My new companion was to have a sovereign for his pains, so he found no cause to object; and when I offered to help laughingly put me aside.
“‘Oh, I can carry him,’ he said, ‘like a baby.’
“A bold, indifferent manner was all, I felt, that was necessary; and fortune favoured me, for we did not pass a soul, and the placing of an apparently tipsy man in a four-wheel cab was not novelty enough to excite the interest of passers-by. I was quite right, I tell you; a bold, careless front carried all before it, and in a very few minutes I had left my chambers locked up, the helper was on the box seat, and we were rolled over Blackfriars Bridge to my old servant’s house.
“Here he was carried in, and old Mary shook her head at the scent of the spirits, but assisted willingly till my charge was laid upon the bed, the cabman and his companion dismissed, and then the doctor was fetched.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Stratton, as he wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow.
“You are faint,” said Brettison anxiously.
“Sick almost unto death,” said Stratton hoarsely.
The old man rose and crossed to an old brass-bound cellarette, which he opened.
“No, no,” cried Stratton excitedly; “go on, man, go on. You are torturing me. Let me know the worst—or the best,” he cried with a bitter laugh. “Ought I to wish his life to be saved, and, know that I am not a murderer?”