"No," said Cleek. "That is, nothing of any importance. Merely a bit torn from an old handbill--see? It probably got mixed up with the bedding. It's of no account, anyhow." Here he gave his hand a flirt as if flinging the bit of paper over the low barrier of the box, instead of which he cleverly "palmed" it and afterward conveyed it unsuspected to his pocket. "You were right in what you declared this afternoon, Major; for a case of such far-reaching effects it is singularly bald in the matter of detail. At all events there's no more to be discovered here. By the way, Doctor, am I privileged to go up and see the patient? I should like to do so if I may." "By all means, sir, by all means," replied the doctor. "I am happy to inform you that his condition has considerably improved since my visit at noon, Mr. Cleek, and I have now every hope that he may pull through all right." "Excellent!" said Cleek. "But I think I shouldn't let that good news go abroad just yet a while, Doctor. If you haven't taken anybody into your confidence regarding it as yet, don't do so. You haven't, have you?" "No. That is, nobody but those who are now present. I told the major and her ladyship on their return this afternoon, of course. And--naturally--Captain MacTavish. He was with me at the time I made the examination, which led me to arrive at the conclusion that the man would survive." "Ah!" said Cleek--and the curious, one-sided smile went slowly up his cheek. "Oh, well, everything is all right among friends, of course, but I shouldn't let it go any farther. And now, if you please, let us go up to Farrow's room." They went up forthwith--Lady Mary alone refraining from joining the group--and a moment or two later Cleek found himself standing beside the bed of the unconscious trainer. He was a strong, sturdily built man, this Tom Farrow, upon whose integrity the major banked so heavily in his warm, trustful, outspoken way; and if the face is any index to the mind--which, in nine cases out of ten, it isn't!--that trustfulness and confidence were not misplaced. For Farrow's was a frank, open countenance which suggested a clear conscience and an honest nature, even though it was now pale and drawn with the lines that come of suffering and injury. At Cleek's request the doctor removed the bandages and allowed him to inspect the wound at the back of the head. "H'm! Made with a heavy implement shaped somewhat after the fashion of a golf stick and almost as heavy as a sledge hammer," he commented. "Arm broken, too. Probably that was done first, and the man struck again after he was on the ground and unable to defend himself. There are two blows, you see: this one just above the ear, and that crushing one at the back of the head. That's all I care to see, Doctor, thank you. You may replace the bandages."