He showed her a telegram from the police-station in the town of Lindow. She looked at it, but could not read. “May I keep this?” she asked. He allowed her to do so, and, after naming the line of railway by which Lindow could be reached, took his departure with constabulary tramp. Mary had to act, and she found the strength. She went to her landlady, communicated in part the news she had received, and begged that the children might be cared for in case she should have to be absent through the night. The charge was readily undertaken. Then she took a cab and drove to Gabriel’s lodgings. This was the only friend whose aid she could seek. Gabriel put himself at her disposal immediately, discovered the first train to Lindow, and, better still, offered to accompany her. “Is it far?” Mary asked, moved to her first tears by the blessed relief of a friend’s helpful presence. “A journey of two hours and a quarter,” Gabriel replied. “We shall be there a little after six.” They had not too much time to reach Waterloo Station, even with the aid of a cab. “What on earth does this mean?” Gabriel asked as they went along. “He left home yesterday very ill,” she answered, “to go to--to Winstoke, to see friends.” “What friends?” asked the artist, with his natural abruptness. “Why did he go when he was ill?” Mary professed that she knew nothing certainly, and after that they scarcely exchanged half-a-dozen words all the way to their destination. Lindow is some ten miles nearer to London than Winstoke, a flourishing market-town. They had no difficulty in finding the hospital; it was a very new building in the centre of the town. The house-surgeon came to them in the waiting-room; a young-looking man, with an apparent difficulty in suppressing native high spirits; he seemed often on the point of chuckling as he talked with them. The information he had to give amounted to this: Kingcote had been found early in the morning lying by the road-side a mile out of the town, and found, as good luck would have it, by a doctor, who was driving past. The respectable attire of the prostrate man had naturally invited close inspection, with the result that he was discovered to be in a state of coma. The night-long rain had completely soaked his garments. Robbery with violence had at the first glance suggested itself; but, on examination, watch and purse was found untouched. He was carried straightway to the hospital. A letter in his pocket had disclosed his name and address, and the police had been communicated with. He lay at present in high fever; there had been as yet no return of consciousness. The house-surgeon proceeded to interrogations, several of them so obviously needless that Gabriel made decisive interposal.