“At Chelsea!” repeated the stranger. “In London?”
“In London.”
“Well, that’s very curious,” he remarked. Then, turning to the servant, said—
“Gill, go and fetch Doctor Britten at once. Say nothing of this to any one in the house.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the servant, who instantly withdrew.
“I suppose you’ve sent for the doctor to bandage my head?” I remarked cynically. “I’m perfectly competent to do that if you’ll kindly oblige me with a little warm water, a sponge, and some clean old linen.”
“No, no,” he urged. “Wait in patience until Britten comes. He’ll be here in a moment. I saw him returning home only ten minutes ago.”
“But how came I here?” I demanded.
He hesitated, regarding me with evident distrust, mingled with considerable alarm.
“I—I really don’t know,” he responded lamely.