‘Paul Lessingham!’

I was so surprised that I all but sat down in the mud.  To hear Paul—­my Paul!—­apostrophised by an individual of his appearance, in that fashion, was something which I had not expected.  Directly the words were uttered, he closed his eyes again, sank backward, and seemingly relapsed into unconsciousness,—­the constable gripping him by the shoulder just in time to prevent him banging the back of his head against the road.

The officer shook him,—­scarcely gently.

’Now, my lad, it’s plain that you’re not dead!—­What’s the meaning of this?—­Move yourself!’

Looking round I found that Peter was close behind.  Apparently he had been struck by the singularity of his mistress’ behaviour, and had followed to see that it did not meet with the reward which it deserved.  I spoke to him.

‘Peter, let someone go at once for Dr Cotes!’

Dr Cotes lives just round the corner, and since it was evident that the man’s lapse into consciousness had made the policeman sceptical as to his case being so serious as it seemed, I thought it might be advisable that a competent opinion should be obtained without delay.

Peter was starting, when again the stranger returned to consciousness,—­that is, if it really was consciousness, as to which I was more than a little in doubt.  He repeated his previous pantomime; sat up in the mud, stretched out his arms, opened his eyes unnaturally wide,—­and yet they appeared unseeing!—­a sort of convulsion went all over him, and he shrieked—­it really amounted to shrieking—­as a man might shriek who was in mortal terror.

‘Be warned, Paul Lessingham—­be warned!’

For my part, that settled it.  There was a mystery here which needed to be unravelled.  Twice had he called upon Paul’s name,—­ and in the strangest fashion!  It was for me to learn the why and the wherefore; to ascertain what connection there was between this lifeless creature and Paul Lessingham.  Providence might have cast him there before my door.  I might be entertaining an angel unawares.  My mind was made up on the instant.

‘Peter, hasten for Dr Cotes.’  Peter passed the word, and immediately a footman started running as fast as his legs would carry him.  ’Officer, I will have this man taken into my father’s house.—­Will some of you men help to carry him?’

There were volunteers enough, and to spare.  I spoke to Peter in the hall.

‘Is papa down yet?’

’Mr Lindon has sent down to say that you will please not wait for him for breakfast.  He has issued instructions to have his breakfast conveyed to him upstairs.’

‘That’s all right.’  I nodded towards the poor wretch who was being carried through the hall.  ’You will say nothing to him about this unless he particularly asks.  You understand?’

Peter bowed.  He is discretion itself.  He knows I have my vagaries, and it is not his fault if the savour of them travels to papa.