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"What are you doing there?"
Blood did not look up from his task. There was not the need. He
knew the voice, as I have said.
"I am setting a broken leg," he answered, without pausing in his
labours.
"I can see that, fool." A bulky body interposed between Peter Blood
and the window. The half-naked man on the straw rolled his black
eyes to stare up fearfully out of a clay-coloured face at this
intruder. A knowledge of English was unnecessary to inform him that
here came an enemy. The harsh, minatory note of that voice
sufficiently expressed the fact. "I can see that, fool; just as I
can see what the rascal is. Who gave you leave to set Spanish legs?"
"I am a doctor, Colonel Bishop. The man is wounded. It is not for
me to discriminate. I keep to my trade."
"Do you, by God! If you'd done that, you wouldn't now be here."
"On the contrary, it is because I did it that I am here."
"Aye, I know that's your lying tale." The Colonel sneered; and
then, observing Blood to continue his work unmoved, he grew really
angry.


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