"No, no. But she had another attack this morning—heart, or temper—and as the doctor was out when they 'phoned for him, she sent Roger rushing off post-haste in the car to find him and bring him along. And"—he hesitated a little—"I'm afraid he's had rather a bad smash-up."
Nan's face went very white, and half-unconsciously her grip tautened round the letter she was holding, crushing it together.
"Do you mean—in the car?" she asked in a queer, stiff voice.
"Yes." It was Sandy who answered her, "He'd just swerved to avoid driving over a dog and the next minute a kiddy ran out from the other side of the road, right in his path, and he swerved again, so sharply that the car ran up the side of the hedge and overturned.
"And Roger?"
Sandy's face twisted and he looked away.
"He was—underneath the car," he said at last, reluctantly.
Nan took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. She had read the meaning of that quick contraction of his face.
"You were there!" She spoke more as though stating a fact than asking a question. "You saw it!"
"Yes," he acknowledged. "We got him out from under the car and carried him home on a hurdle. Then I found the doctor, and he's with him now."