And mighty glad the Doctor was to see them coming. He had begun to fear the Sénéchal had lost his head and made a bolt for home.
He had been sitting under the bank of the cutting as the surest way of keeping out of one or other of the black gulfs. But the interval had given him time to recover himself, and he jumped up at once, all ready for business, and hailed them.
"Down this side, I think," he said, and they swung the lantern over the Grande Grève slope below the bit of crumbly pathway.
"Le velas!" said Thomas Carré, and handed the lantern to the Sénéchal, and let himself heavily over the side, and groped his way down to the motionless form among the bramble bushes.
"Pardie, he is dead, I do think!" as he bent over it.
"Let's see!" said the Doctor's quick voice at his elbow. "Hand down the light;" and the Sénéchal waited above in grievous anxiety.
"Not dead," said the Doctor at last. "Stunned and badly knocked about. He'll come round. Now, how are we to get him up?"
"Here's a blanket—and a rope."
"Good! The blanket!... So!... Now—gently, my man!... Got it, Sénéchal? Right! Ease him down on to the path. That's right! Give me a hand, will you? My legs aren't as limber as they used to be. Now we'll get him on to a bed and see what the damage is;" and they set off slowly for Plaisance.
"My God, Sénéchal! That passed belief! To think of our never thinking of that infernal brute!" said the Doctor, as they stumbled slowly along in the joggling light.