"I know nothing," she replied, hardly. "Groves, go and knock at the door of your master's room," she added. "Ask him to put on his dressing-gown and come down at once. Mr. Chetwode, come with me into the library while I telephone for the doctor." Arnold hesitated for a moment. "Don't you think that I had better stay by him?" he suggested. She shook her head. "I will not be left alone," she replied. "I told you on the way here that I was afraid. All the evening I knew that something would happen." They made their way to the front of the house and into the library. She turned up the electric lights and fetched a telephone book. Arnold rang up the number she showed him. "What about the police station?" he asked, turning towards her with the receiver still in his hand. "Oughtn't I to send for some one?" "Not yet," she replied. "We are not supposed to know. The man may have come upon some business. Let us wait and see what the doctor says." He laid down the receiver. She had thrown herself into an easy-chair and with a little impulsive gesture she held out one hand towards him. "Poor Arnold!" she murmured. "I am afraid that this is all very bewildering to you, and your life was so peaceful until a week ago." He held her fingers tightly. Notwithstanding the shadows under her eyes, and the gleam of terror which still lingered there, she was beautiful. "I don't care about that," he answered, fervently. "I don't care about anything except that I should like to understand a little more clearly what it all means. I hate mysteries. I don't see why you can't tell me. I am your friend. If it is necessary for me to say nothing, I shall say nothing, but I hate the thoughts that come to me sometimes. Tell me, why should that man have been haunting your house the other evening? What did he want? And to-night--what made him break into your room?" She sighed. "If it were only so simple as all that," she answered, "oh! I would tell you so willingly. But it is not. There is so much which I do not understand myself." He leaned a little closer towards her. The silence of the room and the house was unbroken. "The man will die!" he said. "Who do you believe could have struck him that blow in your room?" "I do not know," she answered; "indeed I do not." "You heard what Groves said," Arnold continued. "There is no one in the house except the servants." "That man was here," she answered. "Why not others? Listen." There was the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall. She held up her finger cautiously. "Be very careful before Mr. Weatherley," she begged. "It is an ordinary burglary, this--no more." The door was opened. Mr. Weatherley, in hasty and most unbecoming deshabille, bustled in. His scanty gray hair was sticking out in patches all over his head. He seemed, as yet, scarcely awake. With one hand he clutched at the dressing-gown, the girdle of which was trailing behind him.