“And so would you be,” I said, “if you had been entrapped as I’ve been.”
His face seemed bloodless, as though the discovery of my presence there had caused him the utmost alarm. He fidgeted and glanced eagerly now and then towards the door.
At last I distinguished advancing footsteps, and there entered an elderly, dapper, white-bearded little man, whose general demeanour and buttoned frock-coat gave him the air of the medical practitioner. He held his silk hat in his hand, and as he placed it down I noticed that his stethoscope reposed cross-wise in the lining.
“My dear sir! My dear sir! What’s this?” he began fussily. “Come, sit down;” and he drew me towards a chair, and seated himself upon the edge of another close to me.
“My head has been injured. Examine for yourself.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, first regarding me fixedly, and then rising and examining my head. “A nasty scalp-wound, I see.” He felt it carefully with his fingers, causing me a sharp twinge of pain. “No fracture, no fracture. That’s fortunate—very fortunate. It’s not serious at all, I’m glad to tell you—nothing serious. How did it occur?”
“I was struck, that’s all I remember,” I answered, turning to him and looking into his face.
“With something sharp-pointed, evidently;” and he looked extremely puzzled.
“I don’t know what it was.”
“From what I can feel, I think you must have had a previous blow upon the same spot at some time or another. Do you remember it?”