Unable to help himself in the least degree, and swallowing salt water rapidly now, he rolled away inertly as the net rose under the energetic efforts of his rescuers. There was grave danger that he should drop back into the depths, and then he must sink like a stone. Wearing their heavy sea boots, none of the fishermen, though each was an expert swimmer, dared to jump into the water. But the oarsman, being a person of resource, and reasoning rapidly that not the most enthusiastic salmon bailiff in England would pursue him in such manner, grabbed a boathook and caught Philip with it beneath the arm. He only used the slight force needful to support him until another could grasp him. Then they lifted the half-drowned man on board, turned him on his face to permit the water to flow out of his lungs, and, instantly reversing him, began to raise his elbows and press them against his sides alternately. Soon he breathed again, but he remained unconscious, and a restored circulation caused blood to flow freely from the back of his head. Of course the men were voicing their surprise throughout this unparalleled experience. "Whea is he?" "Where did he coom frae?" "Nobbut a loony wad hae jumped off yon crag." "He's neaked as when he was born." At last one of them noticed his broken scalp. He pointed out the wound to his companions. "That was never dean by fallin' i' t' watter," he said. They agreed. The thing was mysteriously serious. Philip's youth, his stature, his delicate skin, the texture of his hands, the cleanliness of his teeth and nails, were quick tokens to the fisherman that something quite beyond the common run of seaside accidents had taken place. The oarsman, a man of much intelligence, hit on an explanation. "He was swarmin' doon t' cliff after t' birds," he cried. "Mebbe fotygraffin' 'em. I've heerd o' sike doin's." "Man alive," cried one of his mates, "he wouldn't strip te t' skin for that job." This was unanswerable. Not one gave a thought to the invisible Grange House. They held a hasty consultation. One man doffed his jersey for Philip's benefit, and then they hastily covered him with oilskin coat and overalls. It was now nearly dark, so they ran out a marking buoy for their net, shipped oars, and pulled lustily to their remote fishing hamlet, three miles away from the outlet of the river which flowed through Scarsdale. Arrived there, they carried Philip to the house of one who was the proud owner of a "spare" bed. And now a fresh difficulty arose. A doctor, and eke a policeman, should be summoned. A messenger was dispatched at once for the nearest medical man--who lived a mile and a half away, but the policeman, who dwelt in the village, was a bird of another color.