"You've been and let us in for no end of a jolly nice thing--they're in a pretty state of fluster round at our place--the police seem to have taken the whole house into custody--I'd no end of a job to get away, I can tell you that. I left the mater in hysterics on the couch; the pater waltzing about like a tiger in a fit; and Frances using language hot enough to singe your hair--you can bet your life there's no place like home to-night!" "I think I asked you what that is you're holding in your hand." "This? So far as I know it's a telegram; but as it's addressed to you I haven't opened the envelope to inquire, so you can look for yourself." Jim handed the yellow envelope to Strathmoira, who promptly tore it open, glanced at its contents, then held the slip of pink paper above his head, with the somewhat singular exclamation, which suggested--if it suggested nothing else--that, at last, even his imperturbability was moved: "What ho, she bumps!" "Hollo!" observed Jim. "Does she? What's up now?" "Nothing's up, my dear Jim, nothing whatever." He turned to Arnecliffe and the girl. "This is the telegram which, as I told you, I expected to receive from that famous surgeon. It's brief, and to the point. This is what he says; and it's all he says: 'The dead man is still alive." As you will notice, he seems to be a man who economises words." CHAPTER XXIII THE SURGEON AND THE LAWYER A room in a house not a hundred miles from Newcaster. In it Mr and Mrs Vernon, looking as if they were somewhat in doubt as to what they were doing there; their son, Jim, who was manifestly enjoying himself much more than he had any notion of; their daughter Frances, who, obviously, had no doubt whatever that this was an occasion on which she was a young lady of importance. Also present, Dorothy Gilbert--very white, very anxious, and much prettier than she suspected. Miss Gilbert was Miss Vernon's especial and particular charge--it was that fact which made her conscious that she was a person of importance. She kept quite close to her, as if desirous of giving her the comfort and assurance of her near neighbourhood; sometimes holding her hand, sometimes with her arm about her waist--and in that position a pleasanter picture than those two girls presented it would not be easy to imagine. There also was the Earl of Strathmoira, in a dark grey suit, which became him; and with that calm air of positively graceful assurance, which became him even better. And Mr Leonard Arnecliffe was there, offering such a complete contrast to the handsome earl--carelessly dressed; with about him such an appearance of having been buffeted by life's tempests; and with, on his queer face, that humorous, tender something which made it almost beautiful.