* * *
But no, thank God, he was not dead. Forester had his finger on Dick's pulse, and could feel it beating faintly. He lit his lamp and carefully lifted the unconscious figure onto his bed. Then he bent down over him. What was that odour that he perceived? Ah, he knew it well. It was chloroform. What was that horrifying wound across the temple? There had been foul play of some kind. Yet what about the boat and the tie found in it? What was the solution of this awful, inexplicable mystery?
But there was no time to consider this now. He must do what he could for poor Dick. He trembled to think that it might be too late. Had Dick crept back from some place of imprisonment, only to die on the threshold of help and safety?
Forester heated some water and washed and dressed the wound. He had brought with him a little parcel of lint and strapping and other things necessary for such work. He knew that he would be fourteen miles from a chemist's shop, and he had said to himself that he might find it useful in case of any accident. How little he thought when he was packing it up that he would need that parcel so sorely. He also remembered that his thermometer was in its usual place in the breast-pocket of his coat, and he took Dick's temperature. He found that it was extremely high, and that his pulse, which was now more easily discernible, was rapid and feeble.
He examined Dick carefully and decided that he was no longer under the influence of chloroform, but he had undoubtedly been drugged by it a short time ago. Had he still been under the power of the anaesthetic he could not have come, as he had done, to the tent. He had evidently recovered from its effects, set out to return home, then fainted from utter exhaustion just as he reached the spot where he had been found.
Forester did all he could to revive him, and presently was relieved to see Dick open his eyes and look at him. But there was no sign of recognition in his face, and he soon closed his eyes again. The doctor warmed some milk and managed to make Dick swallow a little of it. Then he waited for a time, and thought out carefully what was his best course of action.
He felt that it was useless to call the Sinclairs at this early hour. In all probability they were asleep, and he would need their help later on. Besides which, he did not like to leave Dick alone. He needed constant care and watching, and it was possible that if he left him he might no longer be safe.
Who knew whether, supposing Dick to have escaped from some place of imprisonment, he might not be pursued? If he was found alone, the ruffians who had ill-treated him so shamefully might not hesitate to take his life. That Dick was very ill, Forester had no doubt, and if he was to recover from his present condition it would only be by the greatest care and most diligent nursing. So he sat beside him, feeling his pulse from time to time, and listening to the rambling mutterings of the poor boy who was evidently unconscious again.
What a long night it seemed, and how thankful he was when it began to grow light. Now the farmhands would soon be at work, and he would be able to get help. Someone was sure to be passing by to whom he could call.
But it was not until six o'clock that he heard footsteps coming up the lane. He looked out, and to his great relief saw Rupert Norris coming towards him. He went to meet him and told him what had happened, and left him to watch Dick while he went to tell the Sinclairs at the castle. He stood underneath Val's window and threw small pebbles at it until he woke him.
"Val, I need you. Come out."
In a few minutes Val joined him. "Has it been found?" he asked, with a white face.
"No, Val, no. Nothing has come ashore. It is better news than that."
"Better than that?"
"Yes, much better. Your brother is alive. Very ill, Val, but still living."
"What has happened to him? Tell me quickly!" said Val in an agitated voice.
Forester told him how he woke and found Dick close to his tent in the middle of the night. He said that what had happened to Dick was still a mystery, for he was too ill to give any explanation at present.
"Now, Val, you must tell your father."
Val ran to do this, and Forester waited in the castle courtyard. Old Mr. Norris came out and was delighted to hear that Dick had returned, and the doctor and he conferred together as to the next steps to be taken. A farmhand was to be sent at once for the nearest doctor, for Dick would need medicine and other things which Forester could not obtain; besides which, he would be glad to consult with someone else as to the best course to pursue.
Forester also obtained information from Mr. Norris as to the nearest police station, for he felt that inquiries ought to be made at once about the outrage that had been committed, so that the guilty parties could be found and arrested.
Mr. Sinclair soon joined them, and he and Val walked back with Forester to the tent. They came inside, and Mr. Sinclair was overcome when he saw his boy. Dick looked so ill, his face so white and drawn, that it did not appear possible that he could recover. The poor father, who had kept up bravely through the awful strain of the last two days, now broke down and sobbed aloud as he bent over the unconscious form on the bed. Val stood looking sorrowfully at his brother with tears in his eyes.
Norman Forester did his best to cheer them and give them hope, and he urged them to return to the castle and make sure that every effort was made immediately to solve the mystery. He also told them that if consciousness returned, it was of the utmost importance that Dick was kept perfectly quiet.
Mr. Sinclair said he was only too thankful to leave his boy entirely in the doctor's hands, and he promised that they would be guided in all things by Forester's opinion, in which the family had the greatest possible confidence.
So all the morning Forester watched in the quiet tent. When Doctor Taylor came, they thoroughly examined Dick Sinclair and found several severe bruises on different parts of his body. The wound on the head appeared to have been caused by his falling heavily forward on some sharp surface, and they also discovered the marks of a serious blow on the back of the head.
"I should say," said Doctor Taylor, "that someone came up behind and felled him to the ground. In falling forward his head was cut open, and he must have been completely stunned by the blow and unconscious for a long time afterwards.
Forester agreed with this opinion, and they consulted together as to the best treatment. There was evidently concussion of the brain, which accounted for many of the symptoms which were present, and they both felt that if Dick was to recover he would need the greatest care.
That care Forester was prepared to give. He had consulted with Doctor Taylor as to the advisability of moving Dick into the castle, but they agreed that at present perfect quiet was absolutely necessary. It would be running a great risk to attempt to carry him so far in the present state of affairs.
In the afternoon Mrs. Sinclair came to the tent, and Forester left her and Val in charge while he went to get a little fresh air and exercise. The night had been a great strain on him. As he was intending to sit up again that night, he felt that he would be the better for a little rest and change, and Mrs. Sinclair was only too glad to take his place.
He wandered down to the shore and saw Jack and Don Mainwaring and the three girls sitting under the breakwater. They all came to meet him, anxious to hear the latest news of Dick. They told him that the police officers had arrived, and had been going round the village making inquiries about what had happened. They had also been at the castle, and Mr. Sinclair had told them about Clegg and De Jersey, and how Dick had told them that he was keeping an eye on the two men.
Everyone agreed that it was possible that the two visitors had looked on Dick as a spy, and had taken their revenge by inflicting on him the serious injuries which he seemed to have sustained. But what was Dick doing that night, and how had he come into contact with these men?
"Where are the police now?" asked Forester.
"They have gone across the headland to see that fellow Daniel, and hear what he has to say about it. Someone in the village told them that Daniel has been seen several times talking to th
ose two men, and they think that he probably knows where they are."
The doctor then proposed that they should all walk along the shore in that direction to meet the police officers and hear what they had discovered. After a time they left the rocks and climbed the hill, and by crossing over the common at the top they arrived at the cottage only a few minutes after the police.
The cottage door stood open. They went in, but Daniel was not there. The two policemen were looking round the room, but there was no fire in the grate and the whole place seemed deserted. Some empty glasses smelling of whisky stood on the table; an old pair of boots lay on the hearth; a pack of playing cards was scattered over the old horsehair couch. There was a curious faint odour about the whole place. They were glad to get outside and sit on the rocks while the policemen searched the house further, endeavouring to find out some clue to the mystery.
Presently, one of the men came to the door and called to Forester. "Look here, doctor," he said, for Jack had explained that he was the doctor who was looking after Dick.
Forester went to the cottage door. "Well, have you found anything?"
"Yes, sir. Come and see."
The doctor followed them into the small outhouse at the back, from which he had fetched coal on the night which he spent in the cottage, and the policeman pointed to the floor. It was stained with blood.
"What do you make of that, doctor?"
Forester went down on his knees and carefully examined the bloodstains. "Only a day or two old, I should say, by the look of it."
"Now, doctor," said the other man, "if you and your party will clear off, me and my mate will watch for the return of this gentleman as lives here. He's not gone far, or he wouldn't have left his door wide open. And when he comes back we'll hear what he has to say about these blood marks."
They left the cove as quickly as possible, and as it was low tide they walked back by the shore. Forester kept well ahead with Mab and Dolly, leaving Jack and his brother Don to follow with Doris.
"Now, if Don had any tact he would be walking with us," he said to himself.
When they came to the church they rested on the rocks, and the three who were behind joined them. Forester looked at his watch.
"I must go now," he said. "I told Mrs. Sinclair I would be back at five, in time to give Dick his medicine."
They all walked on together until they came to the road leading to the village. At the corner Doris stopped.
"Father wants Billy and Joyce to come to us for tea," she said. "I'm just going to fetch them. Do you mind if I walk up the hill with you, Doctor Forester?"
Did he mind? His heart gave a great bound of joy at the thought of it. And yet ... and yet... But there was no getting out of it now, so they walked on together, not speaking at all at first.
"I feel sure Dick will get better," Doris said at length.
"I hope so. He is certainly better this afternoon."
"Oh, I know he will. We have so prayed for it."
"Yes, we have."
"And I know what care you are taking of him, but you must be so tired. Do you think you ought to sit up with him for another night?"
"Doctors are accustomed to do without much sleep," he said.
"Are they?"
"When I go to bed I never know how long I shall stay there. The night-bell has a knack of ringing just when I'm falling off to sleep."
There was silence again, and all the time Forester was feeling that he ought to congratulate Doris on her engagement with Jack, but somehow or other the words would not come. He measured the distance they had yet to walk before reaching the castle. He tried to settle what he would say and how he would say it, but still he kept putting it off from moment to moment. At last he thought he would lead up to the subject, and said, "What a splendid fellow Jack is!"
"Yes," she said, "he is, and you've known him so long. Jack was telling me last night about the time you were at school together, and what friends you were."
"I'm glad he's so happy, so very glad."
"Oh, Jack's always happy," she said. "I've never known him depressed or gloomy."
"But I know how specially happy he is just now. He told me as we came up the hill the other night. He's such an old friend of mine, and he knew I would keep his secret. I wanted you to know how glad I am."
"I knew you would be glad," she said.
And just then Joyce came running down the hill with her dogs to meet them, and he had no opportunity to say anything more. Well, Doris would understand all that he meant to say, and he was glad that he had made the attempt to express his good wishes for them both. He would feel more easy and natural now when he met her, as he would be sure to do from time to time during the next few days, for he was determined not to leave Hildick until the patient was out of danger.
He went back to the tent and found Dick cooler and better. His pulse was more steady, and there had been no sickness. So although Dick was still unconscious, he felt much more hopeful about him. He told Mrs. Sinclair this, and she went back to the castle greatly cheered.
Dick was quiet now. The incoherent rambling talk had ceased, and soon after taking his medicine he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Forester boiled the kettle, ate some tea, and then sat quietly watching him. How busy his thoughts were that evening, how madly they seemed to be racing through his tired brain. He thought of Jack and Doris. He wondered what they would be doing now, how happy they would be, how they would be revelling in each other's presence and in the joy of knowing that they were all in all to each other. Then his thoughts raced back to that great trouble he had experienced before leaving home, and which now seemed so long gone by. What a terrible mistake he had nearly made, and how foolish he had been to be disappointed that God's hand had been put out to save him from his own folly.
With lightning rapidity his thoughts flew on to the future, and he planned and pictured the life he would live when he went back to London. It would be lonely, as far as earthly companionship was concerned. He remembered how little Joyce Sinclair had pitied him for this, and he felt that he would realize this loneliness all the more, going as he would from this large and happy party to finding himself with no one to whom he could speak except his housekeeper.
"But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay."
He seemed to hear Doris's voice saying these words of the hymn to him. Was she saying them, or was she singing them? He gave himself a shake. He was falling asleep, and he must not do that. He got up and moved about the tent, and as he did so, he heard a whisper outside.
"Forester, can you come here a minute?"
It was Dick's brother Val. "I thought you were both asleep," he said. "All was so quiet."
"Dick is sleeping peacefully, and I think I did doze a little. Well, what about the police?"
"One of them has just called at the castle to say that Daniel never returned. They are of opinion that he will not come back now, and they are trying to discover where he has gone. Forester, I came to ask you to let me sit with you tonight. I'm sure I won't be much use," continued Val, "but I could boil the kettle and hand you things, and I would so like to stay. I've brought a camp chair with me."
Forester was glad to accept this offer, and then Val persuaded him to go to the castle for supper, leaving him in charge. About an hour after this they settled down for the night. Val had brought some milk and beef tea, and all they would need in the way of nourishment for Dick. The two young men lay back in their camp chairs to watch beside him and face together the long hours of the night.
It was a great comfort to Norman Forester to have a companion with him. Now and again they spoke softly to each other, and Val's great desire was to be of use and save him trouble in every way.
"If you fall asleep, Forester, never mind," Val said. "I'll wake you if my brother stirs the least little bit, and I'm not at all sleepy."
Forester protested that he was not tired, but his face told another tale, and soon, when Val Sinclair looked up from hi
s book, he saw that he was fast asleep in his chair. Val looked at his book again and was just turning over a fresh page when he heard his own name. He looked up in surprise to see Dick looking at him with a steady, conscious gaze.
"Val, where am I?"
"You're all right, Dick. You're in Forester's tent, and he and I are both with you."
Forester heard the voices and woke with a start. He was delighted beyond measure to see the change in his patient, but he would not allow him to speak another word until he had partaken of some nourishment. Val's quick fingers poured the beef tea into the saucepan, lit the stove, warmed and then poured it out and brought it to Norman Forester to administer.
Dick smiled his own bright, cheery smile as they bent over him, Val gently raising his pillow with his arm, and Forester feeding him from an invalid cup.
"Have they gone?" Dick asked.
"Who, Dick?" asked Val.
"Those men."
"Oh, they're miles away by now."
That seemed to content him, and he turned a little to one side, and fell asleep again. Forester and Val exchanged glances, but said nothing.
Once again in the night Dick woke, and looked anxiously round the tent.
"What is it, Dick?"
"I thought I saw someone standing there."
"There's no one here," said Forester soothingly. "No one but me and your brother Val."
"You'll keep them out, won't you?"
"Of course we will. Take your milk, Dick, and then go to sleep again."
So the night wore away, and in the morning Dick was so much better that Forester allowed his mother to come and see him and sit with him. But he absolutely forbade all conversation, and warned Mrs. Sinclair that he believed that the consequences could be most serious if Dick was allowed to dwell on what had happened to him during those two days of which as yet they knew nothing.