“Hush,” replied Mrs. Ambrose, “do
not disturb him—he was conscious again
just now. This may be the crisis—he
may recover. The door is locked—try
and prevent anybody—that is, the detective,
from coming in. They will not dare to break open
the door in Mr. Juxon’s house.”
“But why is Mrs. Goddard here?” asked
John unable to control his curiosity any longer.
He did not mean that she should hear, but as she laid
Goddard’s head gently upon the pillows, trying
to soothe him to rest again, if rest it were, she
looked up and met John’s eyes.
“Because he is my husband,” said she very
quietly.
John laid his hand on Mrs. Ambrose’s arm in
utmost bewilderment and looked at her as though to
ask if it were true. She nodded gravely.
Before John had time to recover himself from the shock
of the news, footsteps were heard outside, and the
loud altercation of angry voices. John Short
leaned his shoulder against the door and put his foot
against it below, expecting an attack.
When Mr. Ambrose undertook to reason with the detective
he went directly towards the study where John said
the man was waiting. But Mr. Booley was beginning
to suspect that the doctor was not coming to speak
with him as the squire had promised, and after hesitating
for a few moments followed John into the library,
determining to manage matters himself. As he
opened the door he met Mr. Ambrose coming towards him,
and at the same moment Mr. Juxon and Doctor Longstreet
entered from the opposite end of the long room.
The cheerful and active physician was talking in a
rather excited tone.
“My dear sir,” said he, “I cannot
pretend to say that the man will or will not recover.
I must see him again. Things look quite differently
by daylight, and six or seven hours may make all the
change in the world. To say that he can be moved
to-day or even to-morrow, is absurd. I will stake
my reputation as a practitioner—Hulloa!”
The exclamation was elicited by Mr. Booley, who had
pushed past Mr. Ambrose and stood confronting the
doctor with a look which was intended to express a
combination of sarcasm, superior cunning and authority.
“This is Mr. Booley,” explained the squire.
“Doctor Longstreet will tell you what he has
been telling me,” he added turning to the detective.
“I must see this man instantly,” said
the latter somewhat roughly. “I believe
I am being trifled with, and I will not submit to it.
No, sir, I will not be trifled with, I assure you!
I must see this man at once. It is absolutely
necessary to identify him.”
“And I say,” said Doctor Longstreet with
equal firmness, “that I must see him first,
in order to judge whether you can see him or not—”
“It is for me to judge of that,” returned
Mr. Booley, with more haste than logic.
“After you have seen him, you cannot judge whether
you ought to see him or not,” retorted Doctor
Longstreet growing red in the face. The detective
attempted to push past him. At this moment John
Short hastily left the room and fled upstairs to warn
Mrs. Ambrose of what was happening.
