Just what they had expected, what figure of horror or of fear they waited for, no one can say. But there was no horror and no fear; only unutterable amazement as an unknown man, in torn and muddied garments, with a streak of dried blood seaming his forehead like a scar, fell through the open doorway into Beresford’s arms. “Good God!” muttered Beresford, dropping his revolver to catch the strange burden. For a moment the Unknown lay in his arms like a corpse. Then he straightened dizzily, staggered into the room, took a few steps toward the table, and fell prostrate upon his face—at the end of his strength. “Doctor!” gasped Miss Cornelia dazedly and the Doctor, whatever guilt lay on his conscience, responded at once to the call of his profession. He bent over the Unknown Man—the physician once more—and made a brief examination. “He’s fainted!” he said, rising. “Struck on the head, too.” “But _who is he?_” faltered Miss Cornelia. “I never saw him before,” said the Doctor. It was obvious that he spoke the truth. “Does anyone recognize him?” All crowded about the Unknown, trying to read the riddle of his identity. Miss Cornelia rapidly revised her first impressions of the stranger. When he had first fallen through the doorway into Beresford’s arms she had not known what to think. Now, in the brighter light of the living-room she saw that the still face, beneath its mask of dirt and dried blood, was strong and fairly youthful; if the man were a criminal, he belonged, like the Bat, to the upper fringes of the world of crime. She noted mechanically that his hands and feet had been tied, ends of frayed rope still dangled from his wrists and ankles. And that terrible injury on his head! She shuddered and closed her eyes. “Does anyone recognize him?” repeated the Doctor but one by one the others shook their heads. Crook, casual tramp, or honest laborer unexpectedly caught in the sinister toils of the Cedarcrest affair—his identity seemed a mystery to one and all. “Is he badly hurt?” asked Miss Cornelia, shuddering again. “It’s hard to say,” answered the Doctor. “I think not.” The Unknown stirred feebly—made an effort to sit up. Beresford and the Doctor caught him under the arms and helped him to his feet. He stood there swaying, a blank expression on his face. “A chair!” said the Doctor quickly. “Ah—” He helped the strange figure to sit down and bent over him again. “You’re all right now, my friend,” he said in his best tones of professional cheeriness. “Dizzy a bit, aren’t you?” The Unknown rubbed his wrists where his bonds had cut them. He made an effort to speak. “Water!” he said in a low voice. The Doctor gestured to Billy. “Get some water—or whisky—if there is any—that’d be better.” “There’s a flask of whisky in my room, Billy,” added Miss Cornelia helpfully. “Now, my man,” continued the Doctor to the Unknown. “You’re in the hands of friends. Brace up and tell us what happened!”