“You must stay here. Don’t make a fuss. Pull yourself together. It’s all right, I tell you.”
To his relief, the distraught girl did manage to control herself a little, but he was thankful when the curtains were pushed aside and the efficient Miss Bowers, neatly dressed in a hideous kimono, entered, accompanied by Cornelia.
“Now then,” said Miss Bowers briskly, “what’s all this?”
She took charge without any sign of surprise and alarm.
Fanthorp thankfully left the overwrought girl in her capable hands and hurried along to the cabin occupied by Dr. Bessner. He knocked and entered on top of the knock.
“Dr. Bessner?”
A terrific snore
resolved itself, and a startled voice asked: “So? What is it?”
By this time Fanthorp had switched the light on. The doctor blinked up at him, looking rather like a large owl.
“It’s Doyle. He’s been shot. Miss de Bellefort shot him. He’s in the saloon. Can you come?”
The stout doctor reacted promptly. He asked a few curt questions, pulled on his bedroom slippers and a dressing-gown, picked up a little case of necessaries and accompanied Fanthorp to the lounge.
Simon had managed to get the window beside him open. He was leaning his head against it, inhaling the air. His face was a ghastly colour.
Dr. Bessner came over to him.
“Ha? So? What have we here?”
A handkerchief sodden with blood lay on the carpet, and on the carpet itself was a dark stain.
The doctor’s examination was punctuated with Teutonic grunts and exclamations.
“Yes, it is bad this…The bone is fractured. And a big loss of blood. Herr Fanthorp, you and I must get him to my cabin. So—like this. He cannot walk. We must carry him, thus.”
As they lifted him Cornelia appeared in the doorway. Catching sight of her, the doctor uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
“Ach, it is you? Goot. Come with us. I have need of assistance. You will be better than my friend here. He looks a little pale already.”
Fanthorp emitted a rather sickly smile.
“Shall I get Miss Bowers?” he asked.
“You will do very well, young lady,” he announced. “You will not faint or be foolish, hein?”
“I can do what you tell me,” said Cornelia eagerly.
Bessner nodded in a satisfied fashion.
The procession passed along the deck.
The next ten minutes were purely surgical and Mr. Jim Fanthorp did not enjoy it at all. He felt secretly ashamed of the superior fortitude exhibited by Cornelia.
“So, that is the best I can do,” announced Dr. Bessner at last. “You have been a hero, my friend.” He patted Simon approvingly on the shoulder. Then he rolled up his sleeve and produced a hypodermic needle.
“And now I will give you something to make you sleep. Your wife, what about her?”
Simon said weakly: “She needn’t know till the morning…” He went on: “I—you mustn’t blame Jackie…It’s been all my fault. I treated her disgracefully…poor kid—she didn’t know what she was doing….”
Dr. Bessner nodded comprehendingly.