Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Joan burst into the breakfast-room with a wild look on her face just as Bobs and I were helping ourselves to a plateful of kidneys each.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ said Bobs.
‘Gwen won’t wake up!’ she exclaimed. ‘Her maid is having a fit of hysterics. I’ve sent for the doctor. Oh, I do hope we’re not too late.’
‘What?’ Bobs and I cried together.
With one accord we hurried out of the room and followed Joan upstairs to the MacMurrays’ room, where we found a smart maid sobbing loudly and wringing her hands and Angela Marchmont bending over the bed where Gwen lay, holding the unconscious woman’s wrist.
‘Is she alive?’ asked Bobs.
‘I think so—just,’ replied Angela. ‘But her pulse is very weak. I do hope the doctor comes soon.’
She cast her eyes around th
