“There weren’t nothing the matter with the lights,” he said, in an aggrieved tone. “They was just turned off. My, don’t the master look awful! You oughter be thankful, sir, that you can’t see ’im.”
Hollister’s return saved any reply on Curtis’ part, and the servant stepped back respectfully to make room for him.
“Coroner Penfield is coming right out,” the lawyer announced. “Also Dr. Leonard McLane, Meredith’s family physician. I thought it best to have him here when we break the news to Mrs. Meredith and Anne, not to mention Miss Hull—she’s a bundle of nerves.”
His thoughts elsewhere, Curtis failed to remark the change in Hollister’s voice at mention of Lucile Hull’s name.
“Did you notify the police?” he asked.
“The police? Certainly not.” Hollister stared at his companion. “We don’t need the police, Curtis. Say, are you ill?” noticing for the first time the blind surgeon’s pallor.
“I’m beginning to feel a bit faint.” Curtis pushed his hair off his forehead and unloosened his collar.
“Here, Herman, nip into my room and get the flask out of my bureau drawer,” directed Hollister. “Hurry!”
As the servant hastened on his errand Hollister half guided, half pushed Curtis to a hall chair and propped him in it. Not pausing to dilute the fiery liqueur, he snatched the flask from the breathless servant and tilted it against Curtis’ lips.
“Take a good swallow,” he advised, keeping his voice low. “There, you look better already,” as the fiery stimulant brought a touch of color to Curtis’ cheeks. “Rest a bit, then I’ll let Herman take you to your room and help you undress. You haven’t been to bed?”