'And yet he'll die if nothing's done for him.'
'If symptoms mean anything, they mean that,' he replied. 'Something deadly is eating away at his vitals, and sapping the very foundations of his life. You see, he can tell us nothing; he is unconscious.'
'Is there no doctor for whom we could send, with whom you could confer?'
Again Dr. Merril shook his head. 'We are away from everything here,' he replied; 'it is fifty miles to Plymouth over rough, hilly roads, and——'
'I have it!' I cried, for the word Plymouth set my mind working. I had spent some time there, and knew the town well.
'Yes, what is it?' asked the doctor eagerly.
'Do you happen to know Colonel McClure? He is chief of the St.
George's Military Hospital in Plymouth.'
'An Army doctor,' said Merril; 'no, I don't know him. I have heard of him. But how can he help? He has been most of his life in India. I imagine, too, that while he may be very good for amputations and wounds, he would have no experience in such cases as this. Of course I shall be glad to meet him, if you can get him here; but that seems impossible. No trains to Plymouth to-night, and to-morrow is Sunday.'
'May I ring for Sir Thomas?' I asked.
'By all means.' And a minute later not only Sir Thomas, but Lady Bolivick, again entered the room. Evidently the old gentleman was much moved. The thought of having a dying man in his house was like a nightmare to him.