Her tone was penetrating, poignant. If it did not reach the consciousness of him to whom she called, in another direction it had a curious and unlooked-for effect. As if in response to an appeal which had been made directly to herself, Miss Casata, on the opposite side of the bed, sat up. The girls clung to each other in startled terror. To them, for the moment, it was as if she had risen from the dead. Although she had sat up, Miss Casata herself did not seem to know exactly why. She seemed not only stupid, but a little stupefied, and gasped for breath, her respirations resembling convulsions as she struggled with the after-effects of the narcotic. The two girls observed her with amazement, she, on her part, evidently not realising their presence in the least. It was Miss Bewicke who first attained to some dim comprehension of the meaning of the lady's antics. 'She's been drugged; that's what it is. Louise!' Miss Casata heard, although she did not turn her head, but continued to open and shut her mouth in very ugly fashion as she fought for breath. 'Yes; I'm coming. Who's calling?' 'I! Look at me! Do you hear? Louise!' This time, if she heard, Miss Casata gave no sign, but, sinking back on the bed, clutched at the counterpane, making a noise, as she gasped for breath, as if the walls of her chest would burst. 'Letty, let me go! I must do something. She'll relapse, or worse, if we don't take care.' Miss Bewicke hastened to the wash-handstand. Emptying a jug of water into a basin, she took the basin in her hands and dashed the contents, with what force she could, into the lady's face. The salutation was effectual. Miss Casata floundered, spluttering, on to the floor, more like herself. Miss Bewicke confronted her, the basin still in her hands. 'Who did that?' 'I did. Louise, wake up!' Miss Casata seemed to be endeavouring her utmost to obey the other's command. 'What's the matter?' 'That's what I want to know. In particular, I want to know what is the meaning of Mr Guy Holland's presence in your room?' 'Holland?' She put her hand up to her head in an effort to collect her thoughts. She spoke as if with an imperfect apprehension of what it was she was saying. 'He was in the street--lying--on his face--so I brought him here--before the policeman came.' 'Before the policeman came? What do you mean? How did you know that he was lying in the street?' 'I saw--the Flyman--from the window--knock him down--he took the ruby.' 'The Flyman? Who is he?' 'A man--Horace knows--I knew--Horace had set him on. I didn't want him to get into trouble, so I brought him here. It was all I could do to carry him up the stairs--he was so heavy.' 'And do you mean to say you've had Mr Holland hidden in your room all day and night?' 'All day--and night. He's dead. The Flyman killed him. Horace will get into trouble--when it's known.'