There was another long pause, during which the man's eyes closed again. Then they reopened, and he deliberately turned his head away.
"You—didn't—get—hurt?" he asked, in faint, spasmodic gasps.
"No." Dave leaned over him. "Have some more brandy?"
The man turned his head back again. He didn't answer, but the look in his eyes was sufficient. This time Dave poured out more, and there was no difficulty in administering it.
"Well?" he suggested, as the color slowly crept over the man's face.
"Good—goo——"
The sound died away, and the eyes closed again. But only to reopen quickly.
"He—said—you'd—get—killed," he gasped.
"He—who?"
"Jim."