I nodded.
“Oh!”
Val Beverley opened and closed her eyes, clutching at me dizzily for a moment, then:
“I think,” she whispered, “she must have known, and that was why she swooned. Oh, my God! how horrible.”
I made her sit down in an armchair, and watched her anxiously, but although every speck of colour had faded from her cheeks, she was splendidly courageous, and almost immediately she smiled up at me, very wanly, but confidently.
“I will look after her,” she said. “Mr. Harley will need your assistance.”
When I returned to the hall I found it already filled with a number of servants incongruously attired. Carter the chauffeur, who lived at the lodge, was just coming in at the door, and:
“Carter,” I said, “get a car out quickly, and bring the nearest doctor. If there is another man who can drive, send him for the police. Your master has been shot.”