'Will she be all right?' My voice sounded strained.
He looked at me briefly and slid the tube out.
'She drank the stuff less than an hour before I got here?'
'About fifty minutes, I think.'
'And she'd eaten… Yes, she'll be all right. Healthy girl. The injection I gave her meg imide is an effective antidote. She'll probably wake up in an hour or so. A night in hospital, and it will be out of her system. She'll be as good as new.'
I rubbed my hand over my face.
'Time makes a lot of difference,' he said calmly.
'If she'd lain here many hours… a teaspoonful; that might be thirty grains or more.' He shook his head.
'She could have died.'
He took a sample of the contents of the basin for analysis, and covered the rest with a hand towel.
'How did you cut your head?' he said suddenly.
'In a fight.'
'It needs stitching. Do you want me to do it?'
'Yes. Thank you.'
'I'll do it after Miss Tarren has gone to hospital. Dr. Pritchard said she would ring for an ambulance. They should be here soon.'
'Dr. Pritchard?'
'The lecturer who fetched me in. My surgery is only round the corner.
She telephoned and said a violent blood-stained youth was insisting that Miss Tarren was poisoned, and that I'd better come and see. ' He smiled briefly.
'You haven't told me how all this happened.'
'Oh… it's such a long story,' I said tiredly.
'You'll have to tell the police,' he pointed out.
I nodded. There was too much I would have to tell the police. I wasn't looking forward to it. The doctor took out pen and paper and wrote a letter to go with Elinor to the hospital.
There was a sudden eruption of girls' voices down the passage, and a tramp of many scholarly feet, and the opening and shutting of doors.
The students were back from their meeting: from Elinor's point of view, too soon, as they would now see her being carried out.
Heavier footsteps came right up to her room and knuckles rapped. Two men in ambulance uniform had arrived with a stretcher, and with economy of movement and time they lifted Elinor between them, tucked her into blankets, and bore her away. She left a wake of pretty voices raised in sympathy and speculation.
The doctor swung the door shut behind the ambulance men and withqiymore ado took from his case a needle and thread! amp;d sew up my forehead. I sat on Elinor's bed wmleffie fiddled around with disinfectant and the sticking f 'What was the fight about?' he asked, tying knots.
'Because I was attacked,' I said.
'Oh^He/ihifted his feet to sew from a different ^pvt his hand on my shoulder to' steady him self. He felt me withdraw from the pressure and looked at me quizzically.
'So you got the worst of it?'
'No,' I said slowly.
'I won.'
He finished the stitching and gave a final snip with the scissors.
'There you are, then. It won't leave much of a scar.'
'Thank you.' It sounded a bit weak.
'Do you feel all right?' he said abruptly.
'Or is pale fawn tinged with grey your normal colouring?'
'Pale fawn is normal. Grey just about describes how I feel.' I smiled faintly.
'I got a bang on the back of the head, too.'
He explored the bump behind the ear and said I would live. He was asking me how many other tender spots I had about me when another heavy tramp of footsteps could be heard coming up the corridor, and presently the door was pushed open with a crash.
Two broad-shouldered businesslike policemen stepped into the room.
They knew the doctor. It appeared that he did a good deal of police work in Durham. They greeted each other politely and the doctor started to say that Miss Tarren was on her way to hospital. They interrupted him.
'We've come for him, sir,' said the taller one of them, pointing at me.
'Stable lad, name of Daniel Roke.'
'Yes, he reported Miss Tarren's illness…'
'No, sir, it's nothing to do with a Miss Tarren or her illness. We want him for questioning on another matter.'
The doctor said, 'He's not in very good shape. I think you had better go easy. Can't you leave it until later?'
'I'm afraid that's impossible, sir.'
They both came purposefully over to where I sat. The one who had done the talking was a red-headed man about my own age with an unsmiling wary face. His companion was slightly shorter, brown eyed, and just as much on guard. They looked as if they were afraid I was going to leap up and strangle them.
With precision they leaned down and clamped hard hands round my forearms. The red-head, who was on my right, dragged a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and between them they fastened them on my wrists.
'Better take it quietly, chum,' advised the red-head, evidently mistaking my attempt to wrench my arm free of his agonizing grip as a desire to escape in general.
'Let… go,' I said.
'I'm not… running anywhere.'
They did let go, and stepped back a pace, looking down at me. Most of the wariness had faded from their faces, and I gathered that they really had been afraid I would attack them. It was unnerving. I took two deep breaths to control the soreness of my arm.
'He won't give us much trouble,' said the dark one.
'He looks like death.'
'He was in a fight,' remarked the doctor.
'Is that what he told you, sir?' The dark one laughed.
I looked down at the handcuffs locked round my wrists: they were, I discovered, as uncomfortable as they were humiliating.
'What did he do?' asked the doctor.
The red-head answered, 'He… er… he'll be helping in inquiries into an attack on a racehorse trainer he worked for and who is still unconscious, and on another man who had his skull bust right in.'
'Dead?'
'So we are told, sir. We haven't actually been to the stables, though they say it's a shambles. We two were sent up from Clavering to fetch him in, and that's where we're taking him back to, the stables being in our area you see.'
'You caught up with him very quickly,' commented the doctor.
'Yes,' said the red-head with satisfaction.
'It was a nice bit of work by some of the lads. A lady here telephoned to the police in Durham about half an hour ago and described him, and when they got the general call from Clavering about the job at the stables someone connected the two descriptions and told us about it. So we were sent up to see, and bingo… there was his motor-bike, right number plate and all, standing outside the college door.'
I lifted my head. The doctor looked down at me. He was disillusioned, disenchanted. He shrugged his shoulders and said in a tired voice, 'You never know with them, do you? He seemed… well… not quite the usual sort of tear away And now this.' He turned away and picked up his bag.
It was suddenly too much. I had let too many people despise me and done nothing about it. This was one too
