Читать книгу Beau Ideal - Percival Christopher Wren - Страница 11

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The arrival of the spot of sunlight found the American moistening the lips of the dying Englishman with the remaining drops of water.

“Worn out,” he murmured later. “God! I feel as strong as a horse now!... He had given up hope before I recognized him.... Oh, Isobel ... I’ve found him and he’s dying.... No, God can’t mean that.... I’m talking out loud. I must catch hold of myself.... Help me, God, for I am going to help myself—to help them.”

The American crawled across to where lay the body of the strange man known to his fellows as Jacob the Jew.

Feeling over the corpse he found the right hand and in it a piece of wonderfully-tempered steel, which, together with a few matches, the man had somehow hidden from those whose duty it had been to search him. Securing it, he returned to the side of the Englishman, and once again endeavoured to revive him.

Panic seized him as he realized his efforts were unavailing. Putting his lips to the ear of the unconscious man, he whispered urgently, and his whisper quickly grew to a hoarse shout.

“John Geste! John Geste! Come back, John Geste! Come back, man! You can’t die! You can’t die, now, John Geste! I’ve found you.... Hi! John Geste! Think of Isobel.... Isobel!... Isobel!! Isobel!!! Do you hear me?... Do you hear me, John? Fight, man! Fight for your life!... Think how Beau would have fought!... Beau Geste.... Think how Digby would have fought.... Digby Geste.... Fight, John!... Fight for Isobel.... Come back.... Isobel!... Isobel!! Isobel!!!”

As though the name had reached his semi-conscious mind, the dying man stirred. The other crowed inarticulately, and suddenly fell quiet.

“Wish I knew something more about that blood-transfusion stunt,” he murmured in his normal voice, as he deeply incised the side of his wrist, forced open his companion’s mouth, and pressed the bleeding wrist firmly against it.

“Excuse me, son,” he said, and laughed hysterically.