It was nearly half-past eleven when he passed through Torquay, then silent and deserted, and ascending the hill, was quickly on the Babbacombe road. Suddenly, however, when within half a mile of his own lodge gates, at a sharp bend in the narrow road along the cliffs, he found himself facing a heavy wagon, the driver of which was asleep. There was the crash of a heavy impact, a shattering of glass, a rearing of horses, and next second his lordship, shot out of his seat, was lying on the other side of a low hedge, doubled up and quite still, while the car itself was overturned and completely wrecked. CHAPTER XV. HIS LORDSHIP'S VISITOR. The two doctors, summoned by telephone from Torquay, stood beside Lord Bracondale's bed, and after careful examination and long consultation, grew very grave. His lordship had been carried unconscious to the park and upstairs into his own tastefully-furnished room, where he still remained motionless and senseless, though two hours had now passed. In addition to severe contusions, his shoulder was badly dislocated, and it was also feared that he had suffered severe internal injury through being thrown against the steering-pillar of the car. The examination had occupied a long time, and the greatest consternation had been caused in the big household, the servants going about pale and scared. Dr. Wright-Gilson, the elder of the two medical practitioners, a rather bent, grey-bearded man, addressing his colleague, said, after a long discussion: "I really think that Morrison should see him. If I telephoned to him at Cavendish Square he could be down here by ten o'clock to-morrow. We could then have a consultation, and decide whether to operate or not." To this the younger man agreed; therefore Wright-Gilson went into the library with Jenner, the stout, white-headed old butler, and, using the private telephone to Downing Street, which stood upon the big, littered writing-table, he was quickly put on to the house of Sir Evered Morrison, the great surgeon. The specialist, who was asleep, answered the telephone at his bedside, and, hearing of the accident, promised he would catch the next train from Paddington. Then he rose, dressed hurriedly, and left by the newspaper-train. At eleven o'clock the next morning--by which hour the world knew of his lordship's accident--the great specialist had made his examination and was seated in the library with the two Torquay doctors. "No," said Sir Evered, a tall, thin, clean-shaven man, who was a personal friend of Lord Bracondale's. "In my opinion an operation is not advisable. The case is a serious one, and full of grave danger. But I do not think we need despair. I'll remain here, and by this evening I shall hope to see consciousness restored." Then he added: "By the way, are there any good nurses in Torquay?" "The Convent of Saint Agnes is quite close. They are a Nursing Order, as you know," replied Dr. Wright-Gilson.