“He run off. Out of the house.”
“Go make certain Lord Chelmsford is safe.”
Martin’s shirt was off entirely, giving Barnabus his first look at the wound. It was a clean cut, deep but manageable.
“Towels,” he called out to the staff. They brought plenty to the scene. To Brogan, he said, “Press a towel to the wound. Don’t break the man’s bones but press hard. We must get the bleeding stopped. If you soak through a towel, snatch up another one.”
Martin’s eyes fluttered open, though barely.
“Stay with us, Martin.” Barnabus listened to his heart again, reassured by the steady pulse.
“Claud.” Martin groaned out the name.
“He’s flown,” Fletcher said. “But we’ll find him.”
“He’s a . . . plant.”
Another man arrived on the scene, one Barnabus knew: Dr. Lowry. “The staff sent for me. How’d you arrive first?”
“I was nearby.” Barnabus quickly caught him up on the situation.
“I can take him to my surgery. It isn’t far.”
“He is a friend of mine.” Barnabus held Dr. Lowry’s gaze. “Do all you can for him.”
“I will.”
The staff had procured a plank for transporting Martin. Moving him a little at a time, Barnabus, Fletcher, Brogan, and Dr. Lowry shifted him onto it. Brogan kept pressure on the wound.
“Go with Dr. Lowry,” Fletcher said to Brogan. “Keep us informed.”
“Aye.”
A cart was waiting at the back of the house. The stable staff helped Dr. Lowry and Brogan get Martin settled, then sat on either side of him.
As the cart rolled away, one of the maids stepped up even with Barnabus. “Is Martin going to die?”
“I don’t know. But Dr. Lowry can be depended on. And Martin managed to say a few words, which is a good sign.”
“Everyone likes Martin. If any of us gets our hands on Claud, you’d best believe we’ll thrash him.”
“So will I.” Barnabus’s jaw set, anger bubbling now that he wasn’t actively doctoring. “So will I.”
He paced away, unable to keep still. Gemma was still missing. Martin had been stabbed. The Kincaids were terrorizing London. The Mastiff remained out of reach and was on the prowl. It was too much.
Fletcher walked alongside him. “Martin said Claud was a plant—a spy.”
Barnabus forced himself to breathe and think. “If Martin knew that about Claud, it’s possible Claud knew that about Martin.”
Fletcher nodded. Strain pulled at his usually jovial features. “Claud discovering that would only have led to an attack if Claud was placed here by the Mastiff.”
“Martin wouldn’t have been careless about that information,” Barnabus said.
Fletcher picked up his pace. “I doubt Claud sorted it out; he was likely told.”
“You don’t think one of us—?”
Fletcher shook his head. “I’d guess the Mastiff figured it out, or at least guessed that we’d have someone watching from the inside and set his informant on alert.”