“In that case, sir,” said his “assailant,” “if you’ll forgive me—I’ll be off—great hurry—important message—Admiralty . . .” and he was off, dashing down the steps as before and disappearing in the direction of the great building across the road on the left. A small group of people had collected but when they found that nothing really exciting had happened they quickly dispersed—all except one middle-aged lady who fluttered round Sir Garth, chattering excitedly about “dastardly attack,” “eye-witness,” “police,” etc., until Hessel brusquely requested her to take herself off. Hessel himself was not a little excited; he insisted on cross-examining his friend as to his symptoms, begged him to take a cab and, when he refused, took him by the arm and almost led him along, gesticulating energetically with his free hand, in which the lighted cigar still glowed. Sir Garth thought that he had never before seen his friend display so markedly the reputed excitability of his race. Fratten himself appeared to be very little upset by the incident; he listened with some amusement to Hessel’s exhortations and allowed himself to be shepherded across the Mall. The pair stopped for a second on the island in the middle to allow a car to pass and then crossed slowly to the other side; they had reached the footway and taken a step or two towards the Horse Guards Parade when Fratten uttered a sharp ejaculation, staggered, and then, gasping for breath, sank slowly down into a limp bundle on the ground. Hessel had been quite unable to hold up the dead-weight of the body through whose arm his own was linked; in fact he was nearly pulled to the ground himself. He threw himself on his knees beside his friend and peered anxiously into his face. What he saw there was deeply disturbing. Sir Garth’s face was deadly pale in the dim light, his eyes stared up, unseeing but agonized; his mouth was open and set as if in a desperate effort to breathe. But the gasping breaths had ceased, the body was quite still. Hessel clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. “Fratten;” he said. “Fratten; can you hear me?” No answer came from the still figure on the ground. Hessel looked up at the ring of pale faces hovering above him. “Has anyone got a car?” he asked, “or a taxi?” “Shall I fetch a doctor, sir?” asked one of the crowd. “Or a policeman?” asked another. “Or an ambulance?” “No, no, a car. I want to get him to his own house—quite close here. His own doctor—knows all about this. Sir Horace Spavage. Heart—I’m afraid . . . a car . . .” “I’ve got a car here,” said a newcomer who had pushed his way through the crowd and heard the last words. “A limousine—he’ll be comfortable in that.” (“Not much use to him, though,” he muttered to himself.) “Lend a hand, somebody; I’ll take his shoulders. Put a hand under his head, will you?”