"It doesn't matter," Gerald replied. "I can stick it in front with
you, and we can cover--him up in the tonneau."

"You'll wait until the doctor comes back?" the landlord asked.

"And why should they?" his wife interposed sharply. "Them doctors
are all the same. He'll try and keep the poor gentleman here for
the sake of a few extra guineas, and a miserable place for him to
open his eyes upon, even if the rest of the roof holds, which for
my part I'm beginning to doubt. They'd have to move him from here
with the daylight, anyhow. He can't lie in the bar parlour all day,
can he?"

"It don't seem right, somehow," the man com plained doggedly. "The
doctor didn't say anything about having him moved."

"You get the car," Gerald ordered the young man. "I'll take the
whole responsibility."

The chauffeur silently left the room. Gerald put a couple of
sovereigns upon the mantelpiece.

"My friend is a man of somewhat peculiar temperament," he said
quietly. "If he finds himself at home in a comfortable room when
he comes to his senses, I am quite sure that he will have a better
chance of recovery. He cannot possibly be made comfortable here,
and he will feel the shock of what has happened all the more if he
finds himself still in the neighbourhood when he opens his eyes.
If there is any change in his condition, we can easily stop somewhere
on the way."