Читать книгу A Broken Memory - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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Gladys own troubles and anxieties slipped from her shoulders like a cloak flung aside. The necessity for action acted upon her like a tonic. She flew up the garden and into her sitting room where, from a corner cupboard, she took a flashlight and turned to see old Marta standing in front of her.

"Is anything the matter, miss?" Marta asked. "Seemingly, I heard some sort of trouble going on in the lane."

"I am afraid it is serious trouble," Gladys said. "Even if it is not worse than that. Now, bustle about and get me hot water and bandages and anything you can think of that is likely to be of use in an accident. I am going into the lane. Tim Walton, the blacksmith, is there and he will help us. Now, be quick, Marta, there is no time to waste."

Marta rose to the occasion, as she always did. She began to bustle about in her methodical way, whilst Gladys hurried down the lane with the torch flaming in her hand. It was pitch dark now, so that the flashlight was a real necessity. Gladys could see the big form of the village blacksmith bending over an object that lay in the middle of the road, and, as the flare from the lamp concentrated on the spot, Gladys noticed the body of a man absolutely motionless on the ground.

"Is he dead?" she whispered.

"No, I don't think so, miss, but very nigh to it," Walton replied. "I dare not touch him till you came back. Now, what do you think we'd better do, miss?"

"There is only one thing to do," Gladys suggested. "We must get the poor fellow into the cottage. There is nowhere else he can go, and it is a good four miles from here to the hospital at Marwich. Can you manage it?"

"Oh, I can manage it easy enough, miss," the burly blacksmith replied. "He's a fine built chap, seemingly, but I could carry him in my arms as if he was a babby. All the same, miss, I'm more afraid of lifting him. And yet it might be dangerous to let him lie till the doctor comes."

"Turn him over on his back," Gladys demanded.

The injured man was lying on his face, absolutely motionless. A stick he had been carrying lay by his side and, a yard or two away, was a bulky suitcase, which was evidently the unfortunate individual's property. Very carefully the big blacksmith turned the stranger over, so that the light could shine on his face.

He was a youngish man, still in the early thirties, with, clean-cut features and all that suggestion of refinement that goes with birth and education. He was a fine figure of a man, Gladys thought, with the form and shape that goes to make up the athlete. Gladys could see that he was breathing still, and so far as she could make out, there was no sign of a wound anywhere. It was only when Walton touched the back of his head, accidentally, that a smothered groan came from the sufferer. Then, with all the tenderness of a woman, Walton carried his burden into the sitting-room of the cottage and laid it on the couch. There was something almost pathetic in the aspect of Gladys' unexpected visitor. He looked at once strong and capable and yet so pathetically weak and helpless. And there was something in that refined, pleasant face of his that seemed to touch a warm chord in Gladys' heart. Just for a moment, she hardly knew how to proceed. It was Marta, standing in the background, who made a really practical suggestion.

"Poor young gentleman," she said. "He do look mortal bad, I've done all I can, miss, and everything is ready. Don't you think I had better go down the village and fetch Dr. Carden?"

"Oh yes, yes," Gladys said. "Of course. We can do nothing until he comes. Don't wait even to put your hat on."

But Marta, had already vanished. The blacksmith slipped out of the cottage and came back a moment or two later with the wounded man's stick and suitcase. Then they could only watch him and wait until the doctor arrived.

The man of medicine came presently, a cheerful, breezy individual who asked no questions, but immediately got to work upon his patient. Dr. Carden Gladys knew fairly well, and his young wife was the nearest approach to a friend that she had in the village. She liked the capable way in which the doctor went to work and the skill with which he handled his patient. Then he stood up and smiled.

"Will he recover, Dr. Carden?" Gladys asked.

"Oh yes, I should say there is no doubt about that," Carden said breezily. "But he has had a nasty crack on the back of the head and there is more than a suspicion of a fracture. However, I can't say anything really definite about that for a day or two. Tell us all about it, Walton."

"Well, there isn't much to tell, doctor," the blacksmith replied. "I was coming across the fields and just getting over the stile that leads into the road when I see the outline of this poor gentleman come plodding along the road in the dark. A moment later, I heard footsteps, as if someone was running in the direction of the village. But it was all done in a flash, like. The poor gent, he takes no notice of the footsteps behind him, naturally thinking it had got nothing to do with him. Then, as if it had been a dream, I hears the sound of a dull blow, and the poor gent, lying on the couch down there just says 'Here, what the devil,' and down he goes as if he had been shot. Mind you, I heard the blow as felled him and it fair paralysed me for a few seconds. I've lived, man and boy, in the village for forty year and nothing like it's ever happened afore."

"Then you interfered, I suppose?"

"I did that, sir. I shouted out and ran forward just as the other man was bending over his victim as if he was looking for something in the poor gentleman's pocket. Then up he gets and off he goes down the lane like a hare. And that's all I can tell you. Only I did pick up a piece of lead pipe about eighteen inches long, as might have done the mischief."

"Ah, sandbagged, no doubt," the doctor said. "Sand bag or gas pipe, it is all the same thing. That is an American trick. The nearest thing to murder without actually accomplishing it. And that is all you have to say, Walton."

"Every bit, sir," Walton concluded. "Then Miss Brooke comes out in the road and asks what's the matter and she told me to bring the poor chap in here, which, of course, I did."

"Very properly, too," the doctor said. "But what are you going to do with him, Miss Brooke. He can't stay here."

"And why not?" Gladys asked. "Certainly there is nowhere else he can go. It would be cruel to move him to Marwich in his present state, and I should feel the same thing if he were a mere tramp, instead of one who is obviously a gentleman. Evidently he was on his way to see someone in the neighbourhood and probably came to Marwich by train and walked here. Someone will be sure to claim him within the next few hours. It is just possible that he is a guest on his way to the Hall."

"Not an unreasonable suggestion," the doctor agreed. "When I get home I will ring up the Hall and inquire. All the same, I don't like to leave you alone in the cottage with all this trouble on your hands."

"Oh, it is no trouble," Gladys said. "I am sure that I can manage quite well with Marta to help me. There is a very nice spare bedroom upstairs."

"That there is," the old servant agreed. "It's all ready, miss. I did everything you told me."

A little later the wounded man lay more or less comfortably in bed with Marta in attendance. There was very little to be done for the present, the doctor explained, and went on to say that all the patient needed was rest. He might recover consciousness at any moment and, on the other hand, he might linger on in his present state for days.

"That is why he ought to have a nurse," Dr. Carden concluded.

"But I am not going to do anything of the kind," Gladys said. "I don't see the slightest necessity. We can manage between us perfectly well, if you will only tell us just what to do and how the patient is to be fed. And if he does recover consciousness, I can send for you at once."

"Yes, you must do that," the doctor said. "That is most important. But I am perfectly certain that that event is not likely to happen for a good many hours yet."

Gladys followed the man of medicine downstairs, leaving the patient in the charge of Marta. The brawny blacksmith had already disappeared and, no doubt, the whole village knew by this time of the startling event which had come, like a cyclone, into their peaceful midst.

"I don't think there is anything more I can say," Carden went on. "Pity you haven't a telephone here."

"Why should I want a telephone," Gladys asked.

"Well, it is rather a handy instrument in times of stress," Carden smiled. "You seem to have forgotten that this unfortunate individual is not altogether our private business. Here we have something that looks like a deliberate attempt at murder on the high road and, in its best aspect, robbery with violence. Have you quite forgotten the police?"

"Oh dear," Gladys sighed. "I am afraid I had. Do you mean to say that we shall have to call them in?"

"Most assuredly I do. We ought to have done it before. Walton could have run down to my house and got my wife to call up the inspector at Marwich on the telephone. I suppose you would like to see the assailant arrested?"

"Why naturally," Gladys replied.

"Then I had better be off," Carden suggested, "Every minute is in favour of the scoundrel. I will call up Marwich from my house and come back again the first thing in the morning."