On a shaky and ancient horse-hair sofa lay the miser, partly dressed. An expression of extreme agony—the fearful pain of angina—was on his face. The attack was a bad one—he might possibly die without assistance. Good! "He is very bad," I said to Polly. "I think I can relieve him for the time being, but I want a prescription made up. Will you go to the chemist, and get it?"
"Yes, doctor, but what about uncle?"
"Don't fear, I'll stay with him until you return," I answered. I gave her a note to give to the chemist—it was nothing important, but it got her out of the way.
It took me twenty minutes to put about five thousand pounds in gold into the car, and then I started on a search through the out-houses.
As I came back from my last journey I thought I would look at my patient.
As I entered the door of the room in which I had left him I felt a violent blow on my head; so severe was it that I dropped to the floor. I was not, however, knocked right out, and picking myself up, I looked round in a dazed, half sensible kind of way, wondering what had happened.
The figure of old Stone met my view. He
