Crampton's brow knitted, and his hands shook so that he could hardly strike a second match, as he pushed open the door and entered the inner office, where, forcing himself not to look round, he lit another gas-jet before taking in the scene at a glance. There lay Van Heldre, bleeding profusely from a terrible cut on the forehead, the safe was open, and in a very few minutes the old clerk knew that the packet of bank-notes was gone. "But I've got all their numbers entered," he said to himself, as he went down on his knee by his master's side, and now, knowing the worst, growing moment by moment more calm and self-contained. His first act was to take his voluminous white cravat from his neck, and bind it tightly round Van Heldre's temples to staunch the bleeding. "I knew no good would come of it," he muttered. "I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?" he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man's ear. There was no reply: just a spasm and a twitching of the hands. "What shall I do?" thought Crampton. "Give the alarm? No: only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor." He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night. "Eh? Van Heldre?" he said. "Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?" "Yes." Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back. The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words "Police Station" over the door. "Where is your husband?" said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman. "On his rounds, sir." "I want him at our office. Can I find him? Can you?" "I know where he'll be in about ten minutes, sir," said the woman promptly, as if she were a doctor's helpmate. "Very well," said Crampton. "Get him and send him on." The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man's face, when he heard the doctor's step. "Hah!" said the latter, after a brief examination, "we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton." "Is he much hurt, sir?" "Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?" "Or thief, sir," said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. "My dear master! what would his poor father have said?" "Hush! Be firm, man," said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. "Does Mrs Van Heldre know?" Crampton shook his head. "I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once." "But she must be told." "John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine." Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man. "Doctor Knatchbull! what is the matter--a fit?"