Over half an hour elapsed before the gate creaked.

“There he is!” Rachel exclaimed happily.  After having conceived a hundred different tragic sequels to the accident, she was lifted by the mere creak of the gate into a condition of pure optimism, and she realized what a capacity she had for secretly being a ninny in an unexpected crisis.  But she thought with satisfaction:  “Anyhow, I don’t show it.  That’s one good thing!” She was now prepared to take oath that she had not for one moment been really anxious about Louis.  Her demeanour, as she stated the case to the doctor, was a masterpiece of tranquil unconcern.

III

Dr. Yardley said that he was in a hurry—­that, in fact, he ought to have been quite elsewhere at the time.  He was preoccupied, and showed no sympathy with the innocent cyclist who had escaped the fatal menace of hoofs.  When Rachel offered him the torn linen, he silently disdained it, and, opening a small bag which he had brought with him, produced therefrom a roll of cotton-wool in blue paper, and a considerable quantity of sticking-plaster on a brass reel.  He accepted, however, Rachel’s warm water.

“You might get me some Condy’s Fluid,” he said shortly.

She had none!  It was a terrible lapse for a capable housewife.

Dr. Yardley raised his eyebrows:  “No Condy’s Fluid in the house!”

She was condemned.

“I do happen to have a couple of tablets of Chinosol,” he said, “but I wanted to keep them in reserve for later in the day.”

He threw two yellow tablets into the basin of water.

Then he laid Louis flat on the sofa, asked him a few questions, and sounded him in various parts.  And at length he slowly, but firmly, drew off Mrs. Heath’s bandages, and displayed Louis’ head to the light.

“Hm!” he exclaimed.

Rachel restrained herself from any sound.  But the spectacle was ghastly.  The one particle of comfort in the dreadful matter was that Louis could not see himself.

Thenceforward Dr. Yardley seemed to forget that he ought to have been elsewhere.  Working with extraordinary deliberation, he coaxed out of Louis’ flesh sundry tiny stones and many fragments of mud, straightened twisted bits of skin, and he removed other pieces entirely.  He murmured, “Hm!” at intervals.  He expressed a brief criticism of the performance of Mrs. Heath, as distinguished from her intentions.  He also opined that the great Greene might not perhaps have succeeded much better than Mrs. Heath, even if he had not been bilious.  When the dressing was finished, the gruesome terror of Louis’ appearance seemed to be much increased.  The heroic sufferer rose and glanced at himself in the mirror, and gave a faint whistle.

“Oh!  So that’s what I look like, is it?  Well, what price me as a victim of the Inquisition!” he remarked.

“I should advise you not to take exercise just now, young man,” said the doctor.  “D’you feel pretty well?”