They carried Carlson through the devastated rooms, into another room and laid him on a bed. The police surgeon arrived at almost the same moment. After a glance at the unconscious man on the bed, the surgeon said:
"But where is the girl?"
"I am Ina Holden," she said quickly, "but never mind me. Look at him!"
"Who is he?"
"The man who saved me. They shot him just before the police came."
The surgeon quickly tore open the blood-soaked shirt and found the bullet wound in the right side. He listened a moment to his heart; then looked up gravely.
"Very serious! There seems to be severe hemorrhage into the pleura. He must be rushed to the nearest hospital for immediate operation."
"Doctor," Ina asked with shaking voice. "Is he—will he recover?"
"I am sorry to say, Miss Holden, the chances are against him. Quick, boys! The stretcher. One of you telephone Mercy Hospital to have the operating-room ready."
And then another man burst like a whirlwind into the room— a large, bearded man of about fifty—a man of commanding presence, before whom everyone made way.
"Ina!—my Girl!—"
Slowly Ina turned her eyes from Carlson and looked at her father. Then she stood up and held out her arms, and was gathered into his embrace.
"Father, dear!" she panted, as soon as his joyful greetings would allow; "Listen! I am all right. But that man lying there saved my life. If he had not come—"
"Yes, my girl! Go on!"
"He was shot defending me before the police could get here. And now—he may be—dying!—" Her voice broke.
Two men entered with a stretcher, just as the surgeon gave Carlson a hypodermic of some powerful heart stimulant. Deftly they moved him from bed to stretcher. Mr. Holden drew the surgeon aside and they exchanged a few earnest words.
"We'll do our best, sir, that's all I can say. Good night, sir! Good night, Miss Holden!" He hurried down stairs after the stretcher.
"Where's the telephone?" said Holden.
Ina took him to it, and then he called the hospital and several famous surgeons, telling them that the man who had saved his daughter must be saved! Must be saved!
"What is it, Lieutenant?"
"I have found his name, sir. It’s on his surgical bag. He is Dr. Herbert Carlson of New York."
"Thank you very much! Please find his 'phone number and I will call his wife and tell her what we are doing for him."
As her father was calling Carlson's telephone number, Ina listened with strained attention. His wife! Somehow, it had never occurred to her that he might be married!
"Hello! Is this Dr. Carlson's residence? . . . . Yes, yes, I know he's not there now. May I speak with his wife? . . . . What's that? . . . . Not married? . . . . O, I beg your pardon! His sister?—yourself? Thank you! Now listen to me, please! . . . ."
Ina did not try to analyze her feelings when her father's words at the telephone seemed to prove that Carlson was unmarried. But then she suddenly remembered, as with a stab at her heart, what the police surgeon had said! Yes: As her father had ordered, He must be saved! Nothing else mattered!
At 2:53 A. M. the telephone at the Holden residence rang for at least the hundredth time that fateful night. The butler had instructions not to call Mr. Holden except for communications from the police or the hospital. Ina and her mother, in Ina's bedroom.
