Putting forth all his great strength, Ducie lifted the senseless body
out of the carriage as carefully and tenderly as though it were that of
a new-born child. He then saw that the Russian was bleeding from an ugly
jagged wound at the back of his head. There was no trace of any other
outward hurt. A faint pulsation of the heart told that he was still
alive.

On looking round, Ducie saw that there was a large country tavern only a
few hundred yards from the scene of the accident. Towards this house,
which announced itself to the world under the title of "The Golden
Griffin," he now hastened with long measured strides, carrying the still
insensible Russian in his arms. In all, some half-dozen carriages had
come over the embankment. The shrieks and cries of the wounded
passengers were something appalling. Already the passengers in the fore
part of the train, who had escaped unhurt, together with the officials
and a few villagers who happened to be on the spot, were doing their
best to rescue these unfortunates from the terrible wreckage in which
they were entangled.

Captain Ducie was the first man from the accident to cross the threshold
of "The Golden Griffin." He demanded to be shown the best spare room in
the house. On the bed in this room he laid the body of the still
insensible Platzoff. His next act was to despatch a mounted messenger
for the nearest doctor. Then, having secured the services of a brisk,
steady-nerved chambermaid, he proceeded to dress the wound as well as
the means at his command would allow of--washing it, and cutting away
the hair, and, by means of some ice, which he was fortunate enough to
procure, succeeding in all but stopping the bleeding, which, to a man so
frail of body, so reduced in strength as Platzoff, would soon have been