"Take these things off!" he choked. "Have you gone mad? Take them
off!"

"All in good time," said the sergeant.

"Take them off!" cried Burleigh again.

For answer the sergeant took him in a powerful grip, and staring steadily
at his white face and gleaming eyes, forced him to the other end of the
room and pushed him into a chair.

"Collins," he said, sharply.

"Sir?" said the astonished subordinate.

"Run to the doctor at the corner hard as you can run!" said the other.
"This man is not dead!"

As the man left the room the sergeant took up the glass of spirits he had
poured out, and kneeling down by Fletcher again, raised his head and
tried to pour a little down his throat. Burleigh, sitting in his corner,
watched like one in a trance. He saw the constable return with the
breathless surgeon, saw the three men bending over Fletcher, and then saw
the eyes of the dying man open and the lips of the dying man move. He
was conscious that the sergeant made some notes in a pocket-book, and
that all three men eyed him closely. The sergeant stepped toward him and
placed his hand on his shoulder, and obedient to the touch, he arose and
went with him out into the night.