"Rotten. Look here, Mr. Armathwaite, you seem to understand this sort of thing. Bar jokes, how long must I remain here?"
"In bed, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"A week, at least. After that, you may be able to hop about on one leg."
"If you were in my place, would you stop in bed a week?"
"What else could I do? Even walking with a crutch is impossible because of the strain on the ligaments."
Whittaker moved involuntarily, and was given a sharp reminder that his informant was not exaggerating his disability.
"All right," he said sullenly. "What time is it?"
"About six o'clock. Betty will bring you some tea and an egg before seven."
"Miss Ogilvey isn't up yet?"