On one side of the wreck two large tents had been erected: one was used as a mortuary, to which the dead were carried; the other served as a hospital for the injured and wounded, where they were tended by doctors from the vicinity, who had volunteered their services.
It was to the hospital tent that Gilbert and Hankey directed their steps, but they experienced considerable difficulty in gaining admission. However, at last they were allowed in, and a doctor, of whom they inquired, told them James Russell was still alive, was indeed likely to live for two days or perhaps longer, but that the nature of the injuries he had received made his recovery impossible. He was quite conscious, and knew he was dying.
"He would be glad to see some one he knows," added the doctor.
"How are his wife and child?"
"Both are injured, but not seriously. I have not told them of Russell's condition."
"Is there any objection, doctor," asked Gilbert, "to my speaking to him at once?"
"None at all, I think," replied the physician, and he led them to the pallet on which lay Russell, his head and shoulders swathed in bandages, and his face, where visible, extraordinarily pinched and white. The false moustache which he had worn as part of his disguise was gone, the paint had been washed from his cheeks, and Gilbert had no difficulty whatever in identifying Cooper Silwood in "James Russell."
"It is he," he whispered to Hankey.
Hankey peered into the face.
"He is now more like that photograph you showed me," said Hankey beneath his breath to Gilbert.