“I rejoice to say that my high-born master is better. He has regained consciousness and is sitting up and taking nourishment.”
“That’s good,” said old Marshall.
“In a spoon only,” sighed the Count. “Mr. Marshall, with your permission I should like a word with Mr. Sturgis.”
“Mr. Who?”
The gimlet-eyed sportsman came forward.
“I am Denman Sturgis, at your service.”
“The deuce you are! What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Sturgis,” explained the Count, “graciously volunteered his services——”
“I know. But what’s he doing here?”
“I am waiting for Mr. George Lattaker, Mr. Marshall.”