I nearly bowled Cummings over running out to the front, where he'd evidently done quite a passable job of overseeing the arrests in the absence of a superiour officer (the lad may make Sergeant yet), causing him to yelp and snap to attention as I bumped into him.
"At ease, Constable, for heaven's sake," I sighed, brushing myself off. "Is there a doctor on the way to Baker Street?"
"Yes, sir," he answered promptly, "and I sent a message to the landlady."
"Good man. Now come with me; we have get the Doctor out of there."
"What's the rush, Inspector?" he panted as I hurried back to where we'd left the amateurs.
"Because if we don't get back there, Mr. Holmes is liable to try carrying the Doctor himself, the bloody idiot," I snapped. "You wouldn't think by looking at him, Constable, but the man's a sight stronger than he appears."
"Not in the condition he's in, Inspector," Cummings observed softly. "I've never seen him look this bad before."
"The Doctor's never been missing this long before, Constable. Just be grateful they're both alive, this time. Let's hope there will never be a next time." I felt my jaw clench despite the fact that the insufferable amateur had made it his specialty to drive me to insanity on a regular basis.