Montague gave no sign, but sat holding the man in his arms. A little trickle of blood came from under the handkerchief and ran down his cheek; Montague felt him tremble as he touched this with his ringer.
“Is it much of a cut?” he asked.
“Not much,” said Montague; “two or three stitches, perhaps.”
“Send for my family physician,” the other added. “If I should faint, or anything, you’ll find his name in my card-case. What’s that?”
There was the sound of voices down the road. “Hello!”’ Montague shouted; and a moment later two men in automobile costume came running toward him. They stopped, staring in dismay at the sight which confronted them.
At Montague’s suggestion they made haste to find a log by means of which they lifted the auto sufficiently to drag out the body of the chauffeur. Montague saw that it was quite cold.
He went back to old Grimes. “Where do you wish to go?” he asked.
The other hesitated. “I was bound for the Harrisons’—” he said.
“The Leslie Harrisons?” asked Montague. (They were people he had met at the Devons’.)
The other noticed his look of recognition. “Do you know them?” he asked.