Beyond and below her was the hall, in which the lamp had now been turned up. Ford looked past her impassively, and took in the two men who waited there, the Kafir, with his raised arms—trembling now with the fatigue of keeping them up—and the saturnine policeman with his revolver. The stretcher had come abreast of him and he bent to look under the hood. The bearers halted complaisantly that he might see, shifting their grips on the poles and smiling uneasily.
Margaret's face had the quietude of heavy lids closed upon the eyes and features composed in unconsciousness. But the mouth was bloody, and there were stains of much blood, bright and dreadful, on the white linen at her throat. For all that Ford knew what it betokened, the sight gave him a shock; it looked like murder. They had broken her hair from its bonds in lifting her and placing her in the stretcher and now her head was pillowed on it and its disorder made her stranger.
Mrs. Jakes was babbling nervously at him.
"Mr. Ford, you really must n't. I wish you 'd go back to bed. I 'll tell you about it in the morning, if you 'll go now."
Ford motioned to the Kafirs to go on.
"Where's the doctor?" he demanded curtly.
"Oh," said Mrs. Jakes, "I 'll see to all that. Mr. Ford, it 's all right. You 're keeping me from putting her to bed by standing talking like this. Don't you believe me when I say it 's all right? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Is he in the study?" asked Ford.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Jakes. "But I 'll tell him, Mr. Ford. I—I—promise I will, if only you 'll go back to bed now. I will really."
Ford glanced along the corridor where the Kafirs had halted again, awaiting instructions from Mrs. Jakes. There was a picture on the wall, entitled "Innocence"—early Victorian infant and kitten—and they were staring at it in reverent interest.