J. D. Beresford - Goslings (John Davys (J.D.) Beresford) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

Then, quite suddenly, the horrible tension was relaxed; his head fell loosely forward and he clapped both hands to the nape of his neck. He was breathing loudly in short quick gasps.

“I say, do you think he’s ill?” asked the young man. At the suggestion Dicky made a step towards the sufferer; his knowledge of chemistry gave him a professional air.

“He’s come from Europe.... Suppose it’s the plague,” whispered the barmaid.

And at that the two young men started back. As the words were spoken realization swept upon them.

Mumbling something about “get a doctor,” they rushed for the door. One of them made a wide détour—he had to pass the man who sat doubled forward in his chair, frantically gripping the base of his skull.

Hardly had the clatter of the swing door subsided before he fell forward on to the floor. He was groaning now, groaning detestably.

The barmaid whimpered and stared. “Women don’t get it.” she said aloud. But she kept to her own side of the counter.

Later the owner of the “Dun Taw” identified the fair man—from a distance—as Mr Stewart, of the firm of Barker and Prince.

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