Before Curtis rejoined the dazed hall-porter a small crowd had
gathered, and it was difficult to get near the body lying on the curb.
A man picked up an overcoat, and Curtis, cool and clear-headed now,
took it, and appealed to him, if he knew where the nearest doctor
lived, to run thither at top speed. The man obeyed him instantly.
"Meanwhile, let me see to the poor fellow," he said. "I am not a
doctor, but I know enough about wounds to say whether those scoundrels
have killed him or not."
The throng yielded to an authoritative voice, and some of the more
sensible bystanders formed a ring, thus securing a semblance of light
and air around the prostrate man. Curtis struck a match, and it needed
no second glance to learn that the stranger's lung had been pierced by
an almost vertical thrust; indeed, he was already dying. The poor
lips, from which blood and froth were bubbling, strove vainly to
articulate words which, in the prevalent hubbub of alarm and
excitement, it was impossible to distinguish. A policeman came, and,
as a traffic station for the precinct happened to lie within a couple
of doors, the moribund form was carried in, and placed on a stretcher
kept there for use in emergency.
A doctor was soon on the spot, but he arrived just in time to record
the last flicker of life in the tortured eyes.
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