“Stubble it!” said John, borrowing from Chirk’s vocabulary.
Mr. Stogumber gave a chuckle, which changed to a groan. “Oh, my head! I dunno when I’ve took such a wisty crack on it! I ain’t unmindful, Mr. Staple. I’m precious hard to kill, but I don’t deny I was shook up.”
At that moment, Chirk came back into the kitchen with the basilicum powder. Between them, he and John applied it to the wound, placed a pad over it, and bound it in place with the knotted strips of cloth.
“That’s the dandy!” said Chirk encouragingly. “In a brace o’ snaps you’ll be in prime twig, covey!”
“Take and put my noddle under the pump!” begged Stogumber. “It’s going round like a whirligig! What’s more, I’m a-going to shoot the cat again!”
He made a great effort, and hoisted himself to his feet. With commendable promptness Chirk guided his wavering steps to the sink, and held his head over it while this prophecy was fulfilled. The Captain, taking only a cursory and quite unsympathetic interest in his agony, threw the bloodstained water from his bowl out into the garden, and turned to pick up his patient’s coat and waistcoat from the floor. As he stooped to pick up the coat, he saw that a small notebook had fallen out of one of its pockets, and lay open, face downwards, on the floor. He shot one quick glance towards the sink, satisfied himself that Mr. Stogumber’s attention was fully occupied with his stomach’s revolt, and picked up the notebook. Standing with his back to the sink, he inspected it. Rather more than half its pages had been inscribed in an illiterate hand; and a great many entries had been made in some kind of primitive cipher. But on the fly-leaf its owner’s name was written; and, under it, the revealing words: Occurrence Book.
Captain Staple, putting the book back on the floor as he had found it, now knew what Mr. Stogumber’s real profession was. He knew also that Mr. Stogumber was a far more dangerous man than he had supposed him to be, and one whom it might be hard to outwit. He regarded his heaving shoulders thoughtfully, glanced at Chirk’s profile, and turned away, his lips twitching. Captain Staple, faced with a desperate problem, found one aspect at least of the situation irresistibly amusing.
Chapter 11
CHIRK, supporting Mr. Stogumber’s wilting frame back to the chair beside the fire, gave it as his opinion that what was needed to put him to rights was another nip of brandy.
“You’re mistaken,” replied John, restoring the bottle to the cupboard. “If he didn’t cast it up again, it would very likely throw him into a fever. Put a wet cloth round his head, and leave him alone! I’ll make him some strong coffee presently.”