Certainly Mr. Cranmer introduced a foreign element into the society, an element the doctor would scarcely be prepared to find in Mrs. Battishill's kitchen. He was not above middle height, and slightly built. In complexion he was somewhat fair, with closely cropped, smooth dust-colored hair and moustache, and a pale face. His eyes were grey and usually half shut, and he might have been any age you please, from five and twenty to forty. He had no pretence to good looks of any kind, but he possessed an elegance not very easy to describe—a grace of bearing, a gentleness of manner, a readiness of speech, which no doubt he owed to his Irish origin. He was a conspicuously neat person, never rumpled, never disarrayed, and now, after his very unusual exertions, his collar and tie were in perfect order, his fresh, quiet, light suit was spotless, and his neat brown felt "bowler" lay on the table at his side without even a flack of dust.
His glass was in his eye, and he held a piece of bread and cream in his hand. Feeling the doctor's eyes upon him, he deliberately ate a mouthful; then, rising his mug of cider:
"I drink your good health, sir," he said. "How do you find your patient?"
"My patient, sir," said Dr. Forbes, in a loud, resonant voice, "has had as foul usage as ever I saw in my life. He'll pull through, he has a splendid constitution. I never saw a finer physique; but he'll have a fight for it."
At this point Clara brought up the cider, which the doctor drained at one long steady pull, after which he wiped his large expressive mouth.
"If the blow on his head had been as hard as those that followed it, he'd have been a dead man by now," he said presently. "But luckily it was not. It was only strong enough to stun him. But there's a broken arm and a couple of broken ribs, and wounds and contusions all over him. Sir, if the weapon employed had equalled the goodwill of him who employed it, there would have been a fine funeral here at Edge Combe to-morrow."
"Then," said Claud, eagerly, "what do you think the blows were inflicted with?"
"A stick—a cudgel of some sort," said the doctor, "but I'll swear they were given by a novice—by a man that didn't know where to hit, but just slashed at the prostrate carcase promiscuously. Why, if that first blow on the head had been followed by another to match—there would have been the business done at once! But I can't conceive the motive—that's what baffles me, sir."
"But—don't you think the motive was robbery?" cried Claud, excitedly.
"What did he rob him of?" said the doctor; and opening his enormous hand, he showed a handsome gold watch and chain, a ring with a sunk diamond in it, a sovereign or two, and some loose silver.