Part 23 (1/2)
”And losing the train?”
”I can motor down to Plymouth; there's plenty of time. I might take him with me, as well as you?”
”Better,” said Thrush, after another slight pause. ”I'd rather you didn't count on me for that trip, Mr. Upton.”
”Not count on you”?
”One of us will be quite enough.”
”Have you some other case to shove in front of mine, then?” cried the ironmaster, touched on the old raw spot.
”I shouldn't put it like that, Mr. Upton.”
”All right! I'll take your man Mullins instead; but I'll try my luck at that German doctor's first,” he growled, determined to have his own way in something.
”I'm afraid you can't have Mullins,” said Thrush, gently.
”Want him yourself do you?”
”I do; but I'm afraid neither of us can have him just now, Mr. Upton.”
”Why not? Where is he.”
Thrush leant across as they swam into the lighted terminus.
”In prison.”
”In prison! Your man Mullins?”
”Yes, Mr. Upton, he's the man they arrested yesterday on suspicion of complicity in this Hyde Park affair!”
MALINGERING
Pocket had put the fragments of his poor letter together again, and was still poring over those few detached and mutilated words, which were the very ones his tears had blotted, when there came a warning c.h.i.n.k of tea-things on the stairs. He was just able to thrust the pieces back into his pocket, and to fling himself at full length on the bed, before Dr.
Baumgartner entered with a tray.
”There, my young fellow! This will make a man of you! Then we shall see you yourself again by supper-time.”
”I'm not coming down again,” said Pocket. ”Don't force me, please”
”Force you?” Baumgartner c.o.c.ked a keen eye at the open window. ”What a tyrant you would make me out! On the contrary, I think you show your wisdom in remaining quiet. Perhaps you would be quieter still with the window shut-so-and fastened to prevent it rattling. I will open it when I come up again. There shall not be a sound in the house to disturb you.”
And he took to tiptoes there and then, gliding about with a smiling stealth that set Pocket s.h.i.+vering on the bed; he s.h.i.+vered the more when an admirable doctor's hand, cool and smooth as steel, was laid upon his forehead.
”A little fever, I'm afraid! I should get right into bed, if I were you.
It's nothing to be alarmed about, much less astonished; you have been through so much, my poor young fellow.”