He led the boy gently outside into the hall.
“Your sister has been shot at like your uncles,” he explained. “So far, the thing hasn’t killed her; but you needn’t take any optimistic view. I’ve sent for Dr. Ardsley. He knows about that poison; and perhaps he may be able to do something.” Arthur seemed unable to control his excitement.
“But who’d do a thing like that?” he demanded.
“Don’t make a row,” Sir Clinton ordered, bluntly. “We can’t stand here holding a committee meeting. There’s plenty of time for discussion later on. She’s just coming out of a faint—at least it looks like that. Shock of seeing what had hurt her, no doubt, was what sent her off. Nothing to be done now until Ardsley comes. . . . Ah, here he is. Now, Hawkhurst, we’ll go; and leave the expert to the business.”
Ardsley was ascending the stair, carrying a bag with him. He nodded a curt greeting to the two at the head of the stair, gave another interrogative nod as if inquiring which room he should enter, and then disappeared, closing the door behind him. Arthur seemed amazed that Sir Clinton had said nothing as the doctor passed.
“Aren’t you going to tell him about it?” he demanded anxiously.
“He knows all about it,” Sir Clinton assured him, but he added no explanations. “One moment, before we go.”
He waited for a minute or two, then the door of Sylvia’s room reopened and Ardsley came out. His ordinarily impassive face had an expression of unusual gravity; and in answer to Sir Clinton’s interrogation he shook his head doubtfully.
“One can’t tell,” was all he would vouchsafe. “Get these nurses at once.”
And with this he turned on his heel and re-entered the room.