He pulled his stethoscope from his bag and popped the earpieces in his ears. He set the bell on Martin’s neck. The man was lying on his chest; his neck was the likeliest place to find a pulse without turning him over.

Fletcher and Brogan were there in the very next moment.

“What can we do?” Fletcher asked.

“Shut up.” Barnabus needed to focus. He was searching desperately for a pulse, knowing if there were one, it’d be weak.

“Stay with us, Martin,” Brogan whispered.

A faint heartbeat. “Found it.” He looked up at the gathered staff. “All the towels or rags you can find. Get his shirt off. Cut it if you have to. We need to put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding.”

Fletcher and Brogan got Martin on his side, working carefully but quickly to cut him free of his shirt. Barnabus pressed his stethoscope to Martin’s chest, listening to him breathe. No gurgling, which was a good sign. But his breathing was shallow.

He tugged at Martin’s eyelid, wanting to see if there was life in his eyes. “Look at me, friend. Show me you’re still in there.”

His eyes made an attempt at focusing. That was enough.

“He’s still with us.” Barnabus looked up at the butler hovering nearby. “Send someone to the mews to prepare a cart. This man needs to be taken to a doctor’s surgery without delay, but he’ll need to be laid flat to do it. A cart with an empty back.”

The butler rushed off.

Fletcher motioned a footman over. “Where’s the blackguard who did this? Claud, I’m told is his name.”

“He run off. Out of the house.”

“Go make certain Lord Chelmsford is safe.”

Martin’s shirt was off entirely, giving Barnabus his first look at the wound. It was a clean cut, deep but manageable.

“Towels,” he called out to the staff. They brought plenty to the scene. To Brogan, he said, “Press a towel to the wound. Don’t break the man’s bones but press hard. We must get the bleeding stopped. If you soak through a towel, snatch up another one.”

Martin’s eyes fluttered open, though barely.

“Stay with us, Martin.” Barnabus listened to his heart again, reassured by the steady pulse.

“Claud.” Martin groaned out the name.

“He’s flown,” Fletcher said. “But we’ll find him.”

“He’s a . . . plant.”

Another man arrived on the scene, one Barnabus knew: Dr. Lowry. “The staff sent for me. How’d you arrive first?”

“I was nearby.” Barnabus quickly caught him up on the situation.

“I can take him to my surgery. It isn’t far.”

“He is a friend of mine.” Barnabus held Dr. Lowry’s gaze. “Do all you can for him.”

“I will.”