He was pushed against the wall, and to his surprise it yielded. Harry was forced into a small compartment. A portion of the wall had turned on a pivot!
The girl was still with him. Her presence was soothing. Harry felt a solid wall beyond, and leaned there.
“You are wounded?”
The soft voice was genteel — no longer a whisper. It was quiet here in the secret room; the noise from the den outside seemed far away.
“Yes,” replied Harry.
“Where?”
“Left arm. Above the elbow.”
Harry’s coat was gently eased from his shoulders. He twinged slightly as his left sleeve was slipped from his arm. Then his shirt sleeve was drawn back, and he felt the pressure of a handkerchief as it was bound about his muscle.
The makeshift bandage seemed to ease the pain.
“It’s only a flesh wound,” whispered Harry hoarsely. “I’ll be all right. But tell me” — he seemed to forget that he was still in great danger — “who are you?”