Blackburn drew fearfully away. He raised his hand and fumbled at the top of his collar. He held his fingers to the firelight.
"Why," he said blankly, "I been bleeding back there."
To an extent the doctor controlled himself.
"Sit down here, Silas Blackburn," he said. "I want to get the lamplight on your head."
"I ain't badly hurt?" Blackburn whined.
"I don't know," the doctor answered. "Heaven knows."
Blackburn sat down. The light shone full on the stained collar and the dark patch of hair at the base of the brain. Doctor Groom examined the wound minutely. He straightened. He spoke unsteadily:
"It is a healed wound. It was made by something sharp."
Robinson thrust his hands in his pockets.
"You're getting beyond my depths, Doctor. Bring him up to the old bedroom. I want him to see that pillow."