"Dr. Elliot?" he enquired.
"Refused all information and told the reporter to go to the devil."
Hal sighed. "Run the story," he said.
"And the picture?"
"And the picture."
Going out he left directions with the telephone girl to try to get Miss Elliot and tell her that it would be impossible for him to call that day.
"She will understand when she sees the paper in the morning," he thought. "Or think she understands," he amended ruefully.
The telephone girl did not get Miss Elliot, for good and sufficient reasons, but succeeded in extracting a promise from the maiden cousin at Greenvale that the message would be transmitted.
Through the day and far into the night Hal worked unsparingly, finding time somehow to visit or call up the hospital every hour. At midnight they told him that Ellis was barely holding his own. Hal put the "Clarion" to bed that night, before going to the Surtaine mansion, hopeless of sleep, yet, nevertheless, so worn out that he sank into instant slumber as soon as he had drawn the sheets over him. On his way to the office in the morning, he ran full upon Dr. Elliot. For a moment Hal thought that the ex-officer meant to strike him with the cane which he raised. It sank.
"You miserable hound!" said Dr. Elliot.