'Well?' asked Mary, as her brother re-entered with something in his hand.
'The poor fellow has had a nasty accident,' said Dick; 'run over in the street, it seems. He ought to have been taken to the infirmary, but they got a letter with his address on it in his pocket, and brought him here.'
'Has a doctor seen him?'
'Yes, but I hardly make out from the housekeeper what he said. He was gone before I went up. There are some signs, however, of what he did. The poor fellow seems to have been struck on the head.'
Mary shuddered, understanding that some operation had been found necessary.
'Did he speak to you?' asked Nell.
'He was asleep,' said Dick, 'but talking more than he does when he is awake.'
'He must have been delirious,' said Mary.
'One thing I can't make out,' Dick said, more to himself than to his companions. 'He mumbled my name to himself half a dozen times while I was upstairs.'
'But is there anything remarkable in that,' asked Mary, 'if he has so few friends in London?'