“Heaven help us!” was the sole answer; and the group on the terrace waited there in speechless anxiety for more than an hour. The sun, as it neared its setting, began to cast the long shadows of the walls across the courtyard; the kitten curled itself into a ball of white fur in the middle of Georgia’s embroidery without rebuke, and still the four men waited, struck dumb by this sudden blow. At last Georgia came out and sat down in Lady Haigh’s place. There were traces of tears on her face, but she spoke in what Dick called her professional manner as they all looked at her, hesitating to ask the question whose answer they feared to hear. “It is paralysis,” she said; “but I have never seen a case with quite the same symptoms.” “All this worry has been too much for the Chief,” said Stratford, indignantly. “The Government had no business to send so old a man on such an errand so ill-supported. What with all he has gone through, and the shock of the doctor’s death, it is no wonder that he should break down.” “I don’t know who started the idea of this precious Mission,” growled Dick, “but if any of us get back to Khemistan, we shall have something to say about the way they carried it out.” “I think that perhaps poor Sir Dugald preferred to come with a small party, and to be left very much to his own responsibility,” suggested Georgia. “He has often said how much he hated being trammelled by directions from people at a distance who knew nothing of the circumstances.” “Still, they should have arranged some safe means by which he might communicate with them in case of necessity, instead of camel-posts which stopped running just when they were most wanted,” persisted Dick. “The responsibility has been too much for any one man.” “I have an idea,” said Georgia, with some hesitation, “that the case is not quite so simple as you think. I have attended a large number of paralytic cases, but I have never met with symptoms quite like these. Sir Dugald has now passed into a state more resembling coma--that is to say, he is apparently asleep, but cannot be awakened. He seems incapable of originating any movement, and yet I am almost convinced that he is partially conscious of what is going on around him. He cannot speak or open his eyes; but his limbs are not rigid, and I believe he is alive to sensations of physical pain.” “But to what conclusions do these observations lead you, Miss Keeling?” asked Stratford. “It is merely a conjecture of mine, but I think I have one or two other facts to support it. I believe that this attack is the result of the administration of poison.” “Poison!” broke from her hearers in various tones of incredulity; and Stratford added, “With all deference to you, Miss Keeling, I can’t help thinking that you are generalising too hastily from the circumstances of poor Headlam’s death. What opportunity has there been for poisoning the Chief that would not have affected all of us equally?”