“I would most appreciate it. Come this way.” He led me toward his study, then he turned back, frowning. “I hope you don’t have a problem with blood.”

In Which I Get Blood on My Hands

IN WHICH I GET BLOOD ON MY HANDS

“A problem with blood?” I repeated dumbly, standing dead still in the hallway.

“You don’t faint or become ill? You certainly don’t seem the type.”

“But … blood?”

“I need your assistance with a minor medical matter. I would take care of it myself, but it’s so awkward working with just one hand.”

All thoughts of the evening’s earlier excitement fled as I faced a new crisis. He opened the study door with his left hand and gestured me inside before closing it behind us. A wave of his left hand made the lights brighter while sending so strong a magical tingle through my body that I had to bite my lip to keep myself from gasping out loud.

“I need help getting this coat off first,” he said, sounding as calm as if he were asking for the sugar at the breakfast table rather than help in undressing. I suddenly felt very conscious of being alone in the room with him. He extracted his left arm from the sleeve, then had trouble with the right. I dropped Lizzie’s notebook on the desk that sat beside the door so I could peel off the right sleeve for him, and I gasped at what I saw beneath.

The whole right sleeve of his white shirt was red. I noticed then that my hands had become bloody from handling his coat. The fabric was a dark wool that hadn’t shown the stain, but it was damp with blood and there was a jagged tear in the upper arm. I had never seen quite so much blood all at once, and although I have a strong constitution, I felt queasy.

He must have heard my gasp, for he hurried to say, “It’s nothing, really. I was merely observing nocturnal insects when I caught my arm on some jagged protuberance. It was most inconvenient.”

“You’d—you’d better sit down,” I stammered, putting his coat aside. He lowered himself into the desk chair. I fought for and found my inner resolve and firmed my voice to ask, “Do you have medical supplies?”

“In a box in that lower right drawer.” I followed his directions and found a box clearly marked with a red cross. “While my hobby is not generally dangerous, I am accident-prone, so it pays to be prepared,” he added. I noticed that he was very pale, and beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip and forehead. He’d managed a breezy tone, but he was in pain.