At the hotel Val and Eddie called on the resident doctor and had Eddie’s wound washed out and bandaged up properly. It was a nasty cut which had cleaned itself out thoroughly by the simple expedient of bleeding freely, and was no longer dangerous, though the doctor said that he thought it might leave a slight scar. Eddie said that he felt as good as new, and none the worse for his experience, though he looked rather desperate with his immense cross-shaped plaster covering his right eye and a large part of his forehead.
Once in their rooms, the men sat down to discuss the situation and to think out some solution, if possible.
Val lighted his pipe, sat down in a large easy chair, and gave himself up to reflection for a few minutes. Eddie sat in silence, too, smoking a vile smelling cigarette of pure Virginia tobacco.
“Well, what do you say, Eddie?” asked Val at length.
Eddie was still silent. It was almost as if he had not heard. He leaned comfortably back in his chair, and smoked luxuriously, relaxing every limb.
“Come, snap out of it, Eddie. This⸺”
“This here, now, Ignatz Teck⸺” began Eddie calmly.
“Ignace, Eddie,” corrected Val. “Be precise.”
“Well, Ignace, then, though I don’t see as it’s any
