"The brute is fast asleep," he said. "I've just been in his room. He left the lamp burning, and there is a lump on the side of his head as big as an ostrich egg. But he didn't mean to go to sleep; he hasn't taken any of his clothes off. On the whole, sir, wouldn't it be better for you to wake our man up and get him away?" David was of the same opinion. Van Sneck was lying on the bed looking vacantly about him. He seemed older and more worn, perhaps, because his beard and moustache were growing ragged and dirty on his face. He pressed his hand to his head in a confused kind of way. "I tell you I can't find it," he said; "the thing slipped out of my hand--a small thing like that easily might. What's the good of making a fuss about a ring not worth L20? Search my pockets if you like. What a murderous-looking dog you are when you're out of temper!" All this in a vague, rambling way, in a slightly foreign accent. David touched him on the shoulder. "Won't you come back with me to Brighton?" he said. "Certainly," was the ready response; "you look a good sort of chap. I'll go anywhere you please. Not that I've got a penny of money left. What a spree it has been. Who are you?" "My name is Steel. I am David Steel, the novelist." A peculiarly cunning look came over Van Sneck's face. "I got your letter," he said. "And I came. It was after I had had that row with Henson. Henson is a bigger scoundrel than I am, though you may not think it." "I accept your statement implicitly," David said, drily. "Well, he is. And I got your letter. And I called.... And you nearly killed me. And I dropped it down in the corner of the conservatory." "Dropped what?" David asked, sharply. "Nothing," said Van Sneck. "What do you mean by talking about dropping things. I never dropped anything in my life. I make others do that, eh, eh! But I can't remember anything. It just comes back to me, and then there is a wheel goes round in my head.... Who are you?" David gave up the matter as hopeless. This was emphatically a case for Bell. Once let him get Van Sneck back to Brighton and Bell could do the rest. "We'd better go," he said to Enid. "We are merely wasting time here." "I suppose so," Enid said, thoughtfully. "All the same, I should greatly like to know what it is that our friend Van Sneck dropped." It was a long and tedious journey back to Brighton again, for the patient seemed to tire easily, and he evinced a marked predilection for sitting by the roadside and singing. It was very late before David reached his house. Bell beamed his satisfaction. Van Sneck, with a half-gleam of recognition of his surroundings, and with a statement that he had been there before, lapsed into silence. Bell produced a small phial in a chemist's wrapper and poured the contents into a glass. With a curt command to drink he passed the glass over to Van Sneck.