"Sit down, man, sit down. No one means you any harm here."
"Who is it in the car?" I demanded, fighting hard against the accursed feeling of faintness that was again stealing through me.
"They are friends of mine. They have nothing to do with the police.
You will see in a minute."
I sat down, more from necessity than by choice, and as I did so I heard the car draw up outside the back door.
Crossing to the window the doctor threw up the sash.
"Savaroff!" he called out.
There came an answer in a man's voice which I was unable to catch.
"Come in here," went on McMurtrie. "Don't bother about the car." He turned back to me. "Drink this," he added, pouring out some more brandy into the wine-glass. I gulped it down and lay back again in my chair, tingling all through.
He took my wrist and felt my pulse for a moment. "I know you are feeling bad," he said, "but we'll get your wet clothes off and put you to bed in a minute. You will be a different man in the morning."
"That will be very convenient," I observed faintly.