"Stop! It's too much. We must stop."
Holmes and I glanced at each other at Lestrade's breathless proclamation. Slowing our steps we watched as the Inspector sat heavily on a tree stump in the middle of the field. Despite being out of breath, I could see no reason for our pause and from Holmes's anxious manner; I could see he was eager to be on the run again.
"What's the matter, Lestrade?" I asked, as the man began to moan.
He looked perfectly healthy; there should be no reason for our stopping. And with those hounds after us…
"Lestrade, out with it!" my friend ordered.
Lestrade began to untie the laces to his right boot and I groaned in protest.
Surely not that.
Holmes had a bleeding lip from the fight in the stable yard. Miles, the gardener had the promise of a beautiful black eye and my leg was groaning in protest at our hurried flight. We could not possibly be stopping for this.
But, ever dedicated to my medical practice, I patiently asked the Inspector to state what was ailing him.
Holmes threw up his hands in exasperation. "Now is not the time to be playing nursemaid!" Pointing an accusing finger at Lestrade, he barked, "Man up! We have two murders and need to prevent a third. I refuse to be hindered by some poor Inspector's blister!"
