Part 11 (1/2)
”It's as bad--as that?” questioned Marjory.
”I do not know.”
”I must see the doctor at once,” she said. ”But, first,--can you give me apartments on the same floor,--for myself and maid? I am his fiancee,” she informed him.
”I can give mademoiselle apartments adjoining,” said the clerk eagerly.
”Then do so.”
She signed her name in the register, and beckoned for Marie.
”Marie,” she said, ”you may return and finish packing my trunks.
Please bring them here.”
”Here?” queried Marie.
”Here,” answered Marjory.
She turned to the clerk.
”Take me upstairs at once.”
There was a strong smell of ether in the hall outside the door of Monte Covington's room. It made her gasp for a moment. It seemed to make concrete what, after all, had until this moment been more or less vague. It was like fiction suddenly made true. That pungent odor was a grim reality. So was that black-bearded Dr. Marcellin, who, leaving his patient in the hands of his a.s.sistant, came to the door wiping his hands upon a towel.
”I am Mr. Covington's fiancee--Miss Stockton,” she said at once. ”You will tell me the truth?”
After one glance at her eyes Dr. Marcellin was willing to tell the truth.
”It is an ugly bullet wound in his shoulder,” he said.
”It is not serious?”
”Such things are always serious. Luckily, I was able to find the bullet and remove it. It was a narrow escape for him.”
”Of course,” she added, ”I shall serve as his nurse.”
”Good,” he nodded.
But he added, having had some experience with fiancees as nurses:--
”Of course I shall have for a week my own nurse also; but I shall be glad of your a.s.sistance. This--er--was an accident?”
She nodded.
”He was trying to save a foolish friend from killing himself.”
”I understand.”