With a queer, creepy feeling over my scalp, I remembered the little flask half-full of blood-red liquid which Crochard carried in his pocket.
But he had not meant murder this time; I remembered that Godfrey had said he never killed an adversary. The doctor worked briskly away, and, at the end of a few minutes, Simmonds's eyes suddenly closed, he drew a long breath, and sat erect. Then his eyes opened, and he sat swaying unsteadily and staring amazedly about him.
"Best lie down again," said the doctor soothingly. "You're a little wobbly yet, you know."
"Where am I?" gasped Simmonds. Then his eyes encountered mine. "Lester!" he said. "Where is he--Piggott? Not...."
He stopped short, looked once around at the gleaming marble of the bank, fumbled for something at his side, and fell senseless on the seat.
I have no recollection of how I got back to the Marathon. I suppose I must have walked; but my first distinct remembrance is of finding myself sitting in my favourite chair, pipe in hand. The pipe was lit, so I suppose I must have lighted it mechanically, and I found that I had also mechanically changed into my lounging-coat. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly four o'clock.
The top of my head was burning as though with fever, and I went into the bathroom and turned the cold water on it. The shock did me a world of good, and by the time I had finished a vigorous toweling I felt immensely better. So I returned to my chair and sat down to review the events of the evening; but I found that somehow my brain refused to work, and black circles began to whirl before my eyes again.
"I told Godfrey I couldn't stand any more of this," I muttered, and stumbled into my bedroom, undressed with difficulty, and turned out the light.
Then, as I lay there, staring up into the darkness, a stinging thought brought me upright.
Godfrey--where was Godfrey? Was he on the track of Crochard? Was he daring a contest with him? Perhaps, even at this moment....
Scarcely knowing what I did, I groped my way to the telephone and asked for Godfrey's number--hoping against hope absurdly--and at last, to my intense surprise and relief, I heard his voice--not a very amiable voice....
"Godfrey," I began, "it's Lester. He got away."