"There's been a disturbance over yonder," one replied, carelessly
pointing to a spot where other helmets could be discerned.
Thither Gammon made his way. He found police and public gathered
thickly about some person invisible; a vigorous effort and he got
near enough to see a recumbent body, quite still, on which the
flakes of snow were falling.
"Let me look at him," he requested of a constable who would have
pushed him away. "It's a friend of mine, I believe."
Yes, it was Lord Polperro, unconscious, and with blood about his
mouth.
The police were waiting as a matter of professional routine to see
whether he recovered his senses; they had, of course, classed him as
"drunk and incapable."
"I say," Gammon whispered to one of them, "let me tell you who that
is."
The conference led to the summoning of a cab, which by police
direction was driven to the nearest hospital, St. Bartholomew's.
Here Gammon soon learnt that the case was considered serious, so
serious that the patient has been put to bed and must there remain.
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