When Hal returned, uncle and niece were working with silent deftness over Ellis, who lay on the floor. The wounded man opened his eyes upon his employer's agonized face.
"Did he get the press?" he gasped.
"Keep quiet," ordered the Doctor. "Don't speak."
"Did he get the press?" insisted Ellis obstinately.
"Mac! Mac!" half sobbed Hal, bending over him. "I thought you were dead." And his tears fell on the blood-streaked face.
"Don't be young," growled Ellis faintly. "Did—he—get—the—press?"
"No."
The wounded man's eyes closed. "All right," he murmured.
Up to the time that the ambulance surgeons came to carry Ellis away, Dr. Elliot was too busy with him even to be questioned. Only after the still burden had passed through the door did he turn to Hal.
"A piece of metal carried away half the back of his neck," he said. "And we let him sit there, bleeding his life away!"