“No, Walter—­not foolish, not foolish.  Would you like me to call Mr. Ambrose? he is a clergyman—­he is in the house.”

“No, no.  You Mary, you—­nobody will hear anybody else’s prayers—­for me—­for poor me—­”

“Try and pray with me, Walter,” said Mary Goddard, very quietly.  She seemed to have an unnatural strength given to her in that hour of distress and horror.  She knelt down by the bedside and took his wounded hand in hers, tenderly, and she prayed aloud in such words as she could find.

Below, in the study, the detective had just finished telling his tale to the squire, and the wheels of Doctor Longstreet’s dog-cart ground upon the gravel outside.  The two men looked at each other for a moment, and Mr. Juxon spoke first.

“That is the doctor,” said he.  “I will ask you to have patience for five minutes, Mr. Booley.  He will give you his opinion.  I am still very much shocked at what you have told me—­I had no idea what had happened.”

“No—­I suppose not,” answered Mr. Booley calmly.  “If you will ask the medical man to step in here for one moment, I will explain matters to him.  I don’t think he will differ much from me.”

“Very well,” returned the squire, leaving the room.  He went to meet Doctor Longstreet, intending to warn him of the presence of Mr. Booley, and meaning to entreat his support for the purpose of keeping Goddard in the house until he should be recovered.  He passed through the library and exchanged a few words with Mr. Ambrose, explaining that the doctor had come.  Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose were sitting on opposite sides of the fireplace in huge chairs, with a mournful air of resigned expectation upon their worthy faces.  The detective remained alone in the study.

Meanwhile John Short had refreshed himself from his fatigues, and came down stairs in search of some breakfast.  He had recovered from his excitement and was probably the only one who thought of eating, as he was also the one least closely concerned in what was occurring.  Instead of going to the library he went to the dining-room, and, seeing no one about, entered the study from the door which on that side connected the two rooms.  To his surprise he saw Mr. Booley standing before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets and his feet wide apart.  He had not the least idea who he was.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, staring hard at him.

“Yes,” said Mr. Booley, who took him for the physician whom he expected.  “I am George Booley of the detective service.  I was expecting you, sir.  There is very little to be said.  My time, as I told Mr. Juxon, is very valuable.  I must have Goddard out of the house by to-morrow afternoon at the latest.  Now, doctor, it is of no use your talking to me about fever and all that—­”

John had stood with his mouth open, staring in blank astonishment at the detective, unable to find words in which to question the man.  At last he got his breath.