The Shrieking Pit | Page 4

his heart, helped him to a sitting posture, and then, glancing
at the faces crowded around, exclaimed in a sharp voice:

"He wants air. Please move back there a little."
"Certainly, Sir Henry." It was a stout man in a check golfing suit who
spoke. "But the ladies are very anxious to know if it is anything
serious."
"No, no. He will be quite all right directly. Just fall back, and give him
more air. Here, you!"--this to one of the gaping waiters--"just slip
across to the office and find out the number of this gentleman's room."
The waiter hurried away and speedily returned with the proprietor of
the hotel, a little man in check trousers and a frock coat, with a bald
head and an anxious, yet resigned eye which was obviously prepared
for the worst. His demeanour was that of a man who, already
overloaded by misfortune, was bracing his sinews to bear the last straw.
As he approached the group near the alcove table he smoothed his
harassed features into an expression of solicitude, and, addressing
himself to the man who was supporting the young man on the floor,
said, in a voice intended to be sympathetic,
"I thought I had better come myself, Sir Henry. I could not understand
from Antoine what you wanted or what had happened. Antoine said
something about somebody dying in the breakfast-room----"
"Nothing of the sort!" snapped the gentleman addressed as Sir Henry,
shifting his posture a little so as to enable the young man to lean against
his shoulder. "Haven't you eyes in your head, Willsden? Cannot you
see for yourself that this gentleman has merely had a fainting fit?"
"I'm delighted to hear it, Sir Henry," replied the hotel proprietor. But
his face expressed no visible gratification. To a man who had had his
hotel emptied by a Zeppelin raid the difference between a single guest
fainting instead of dying was merely infinitesimal.
"Who is this gentleman, and what's the number of his room?" continued
Sir Henry. "He will be better lying quietly on his bed."
"His name is Ronald, and his room is No. 32--on the first floor, Sir

Henry."
"Very good. I'll take him up there at once."
"Shall I help you, Sir Henry? Perhaps he could be carried up. One of
the waiters could take his feet, or perhaps it would be better to have
two."
"There's not the slightest necessity. He'll be able to walk in a
minute--with a little assistance. Ah, that's better!" The abrupt manner in
which Sir Henry addressed the hotel proprietor insensibly softened
itself into the best bedside manner when he spoke to the patient on the
carpet, who, from a sitting posture, was now endeavouring to struggle
to his feet. "You think you can get up, eh? Well, it won't do you any
harm. That's the way!" Sir Henry assisted the young man to rise, and
supported him with his arm. "Now, the next thing is to get him to his
room. No, no, not you, Willsden--you're too small. Where's that
gentleman I was sitting with a few minutes ago? Ah, thank you"--as
Colwyn stepped forward and took the other arm--"now, let us take him
gently upstairs."
The young man allowed himself to be led away without resistance. He
walked, or rather stumbled, along between his guides like a man in a
dream. Colwyn noticed that his eyes were half-closed, and that his head
sagged slightly from side to side as he was led along. A waiter held
open the glass doors which led into the lounge, and a palpitating
chambermaid, hastily summoned from the upper regions, tripped ahead
up the broad carpeted stairs and along the passage to show the way to
the young man's bedroom.
CHAPTER II
Sir Henry dismissed the chambermaid at the door, and Colwyn and he
lifted the young man on to the bed. He lay like a man in a stupor,
breathing heavily, his face flushed, his eyes nearly closed. Sir Henry
drew up the blind, and by the additional light examined him thoroughly,
listening closely to the action of his heart, and examining the pupils of
his eyes by rolling back the upper lid with some small instrument he

took from his pocket.
"He'll do now," he said, after loosening the patient's clothes for his
greater comfort. "He'll come to in about five minutes, and may be all
right again shortly afterwards. But there are certain peculiar features
about this case which are new in my experience, and rather alarm me.
Certainly the young man ought not to be left to himself. His friends
should be sent for. Do you know anything about him? Is he staying at
the hotel alone? I only arrived here last night."
"I believe he is staying at the hotel alone.