“Master—he's found. Your servant has just telephoned. Mr. Risca 's met with an accident and is at your house, and will you please go there at once?”
THEY found him lying on the sofa, a pitiable object, the whole of his head from the back of his neck to his eyebrows swathed in bandages. His clothes were mere limp and discoloured wrappings. They looked as though they had been wet through, for the red of his tie had run into his shirt-front and collar. The coarse black sprouts on pallid cheek and upper lip gave him an appearance of indescribable grime. His eyes were sunken and feverish.
Unity uttered a little cry as she saw him, but checked it quickly, and threw herself on her knees by his side.
“Thank God you 're alive!”
He put his hand on her head.
“I 'm all right,” he said faintly; “but you should n't have come. That 's why I did n't go straight home. I did n't want to frighten you. I 'm a ghastly sight, and I should have scared your aunt out of her wits.”
“But how, in Heaven's name, man,” said Herold, “did you get into this state?”
“Something hit me over the head, and I spent the night in rain and sea-water on the rocks.”
“On the rocks? Where? At Southcliff?”
“Yes,” said John, “at Southcliff. I was a fool to go down, but I 've been a fool all my life, so a bit more folly does n't matter.” He closed his eyes. “Give me a drink, Wallie—some brandy.”