“Ina!—my Girl!—”
Slowly Ina turned her eyes from Carlson and looked at her father. Then she stood up and held out her arms, and was gathered into his embrace.
“Father, dear!” she panted, as soon as his joyful greetings would allow; “Listen! I am all right. But that man lying there saved my life. If he had not come—”
“Yes, my girl! Go on!”
“He was shot defending me before the police could get here. And now—he may be—dying!—” Her voice broke.
Two men entered with a stretcher, just as the surgeon gave Carlson a hypodermic of some powerful heart stimulant. Deftly they moved him from bed to stretcher. Mr. Holden drew the surgeon aside and they exchanged a few earnest words.
“We’ll do our best, sir, that’s all I can say. Good night, sir! Good night, Miss Holden!” He hurried down stairs after the stretcher.
“Where’s the telephone?” said Holden.
Ina took him to it, and then he called the hospital and several famous surgeons, telling them that the man who had saved his daughter must be saved! Must be saved!
“What is it, Lieutenant?”