All this, save the promise of help, the doctor said with his tongue in his cheek. He had not the slightest intention of permitting Philip to travel next day. It was out of the question. Better reason with him in the morning, and, if needful, bring his friends to Yorkshire rather than send him to London. But--the police must be informed at once. It was more than likely the criminals had left the Grange House soon after the attempted murder. Yet, if Philip did not object, a policeman should be summoned, and the tale told to him. The man should be warned to keep the story out of the papers. The arrival of the constable at a late hour created consternation in the household. But the doctor knew his people. "Have no fear, Mrs. Verril," he whispered to the fisherman's wife, "your husband caught a fine fish when he drew Mr. Anson into his net. He will not need to poach salmon any more." The doctor sat by Philip's bed while the policeman made clumsy notes of that eventful Tuesday night's occurrences. Then, in his turn, he amazed his hearers. He described his encounter with another Philip Anson in the highroad, at an hour when the real personage of that name was unquestionably being attended to by the doctor himself in the fisherman's cottage. "Ay," he said, in his broad Yorkshire dialect, "he was as like you, sir, as twea peas, on'y, now that I see ye, he wasn't sike a--sike a gentleman as you, an' he talked wi' a queer catch in his voice. T'uther chap 'ud be Jocky Mason, 'cordin' te your discription; soa it seems to me 'at this 'ere Dr. Williams, 'oo druv' you frae t' station, must ha' took yer clothes, an' twisted his feace te luke as mich like you as he could." The doctor cut short further conversation. He insisted on his patient seeking rest, but in response to Philip's urgent request, he wrote a long telegram, which he promised would be handed in when the Scarsdale telegraph office opened next morning. And this was Philip's message to Evelyn: "I have suffered detention since Tuesday night at the hands of Jocky Mason, whose name you will recollect, and another man, unknown. I am now cared for by friends, and recovering rapidly from injuries received in a struggle. I return to London to-day." The doctor smiled, but said nothing. "My only fear is that you must have endured terrible uncertainty, if by any chance you imagined I was missing. Tell Abingdon. "PHILIP ANSON." And then followed his address, care of the doctor. "Is that all?" said Anson's new-found friend. Philip smiled feebly, for he was very weak. "There is one matter, small in many ways, but important, too. You might add: 'I hope you have not lost Blue Atom by this mischance.'" He sank back exhausted. It was on the tip of the doctor's tongue to ask: "What in the world is a Blue Atom?" But he forbore. The sleeping potion was taking effect, and he would not retard it. He subsequently wrote a telegram on his own account: