In a few succinct words, Melchett explained the situation.
Haydock is not a man who ever shows his feelings. He merely raised his eyebrows, nodded, and strode across to his patient. He felt his pulse, raised the eyelid and looked intently at the eye.
Then he turned to Melchett.
“Want to save him for the gallows?” he asked. “He’s pretty far gone, you know. It will be touch and go, anyway. I doubt if I can bring him round.”
“Do everything possible.”
“Right.”
He busied himself with the case he had brought with him, preparing a hypodermic injection which he injected into Hawes’ arm. Then he stood up.
“Best thing is to run him into Much Benham—to the hospital there. Give me a hand to get him down to the car.”
We both lent our assistance. As Haydock climbed into the driving seat, he threw a parting remark over his shoulder.
“You won’t be able to hang him, you know, Melchett.”
“You mean he won’t recover?”
“May or may not. I didn’t mean that. I mean that even if he does recover—well, the poor devil wasn’t responsible for his actions. I shall give evidence to that effect.”
“What did he mean by that?” asked Melchett as we went upstairs again.
I explained that Hawes had been a victim of encephalitis lethargica.