He firmly declined the assistance of Mordaunt’s man, however, and it was Mordaunt himself who waited upon him, ignoring protest, till his shivering protege was safe in bed.

He seemed to resign himself to his fate then, being too exhausted to do otherwise.  A heavy drowsiness came upon him, and he very soon fell into a doze.

Mordaunt sat in an adjoining room, opening and answering letters.  His demeanour was quite serene.  Save that he paused now and then and leaned back in his chair to listen, there was nothing about him to indicate that anything unusual had taken place.

It was nearing midnight when his man came softly in with a cup of beef-tea.

“All right, Holmes!  I’ll see to him.  You can go to bed,” he said then.

Holmes paused.  “I’ve made up the bed in the spare-room, sir,” he said.

“Oh, thanks!  I shall not want it though.  I will sleep on the sofa here.”

“Very good, sir.”  Holmes still paused.  He never expressed surprise at anything his master saw fit to do; he only did his utmost to give his proceedings as normal an aspect as possible.  His acquaintance with Mordaunt also dated from a South African battlefield; they knew each other very well indeed.

“I was only thinking to myself,” he said, in answer to Mordaunt’s look, “I could just as easy attend to the gentleman as you could, sir.  I’m more or less up in night duty, as you might say, and I’ll guarantee as he wants for nothing if you’ll put him in my charge.”

Holmes had been a hospital orderly in his time, and Mordaunt knew him to be absolutely trustworthy in a responsible position.  Nevertheless he declined the offer.

“Very good of you, Holmes!  But I would rather you went to bed.  I shouldn’t be turning in yet in any case.  I have work to do.  I don’t fancy he will give any trouble.  If he does, I will call you.”

Holmes withdrew without further argument, and a few minutes later Mordaunt, armed with the beef-tea, went to his guest’s bedside.

He found him dozing, but he awoke at once, looking up with fever-bright eyes to greet him.

“Ah! but you are too good—­too good,” he said.  “And I have no hunger now.  I am only yet a little fatigued.  I shall repose myself, and I shall find myself well.”

“Yes, you will be better after a sleep,” Mordaunt said.  “You shall settle down when you have had this, and sleep the clock round.”

He was aware once more of the Frenchman’s puzzled eyes watching him as he submissively took the nourishment, but he paid no heed to them.  It was not his intention to encourage any discussion just then.

Outside, the rain pattered incessantly, beating against the windows.  At a sudden gust of hail de Montville shivered.

“Monsieur,” he said, choosing his words with care, “your great kindness is such as I can never hope to repay, but permit me to assure you that my gratitude will constrain me to regard myself your debtor till death.  If it is ever in my power to serve you, I will render that service, cost what it may.  You have called me by my name.  It appears that you know me?”