The room disclosed was the one in which Craig lay. At one side was a small table covered with a white cloth, with a _mêlée_ of nickelled instruments, rolls of absorbent bandaging and a basin of reddened liquid. The air was full of the sickish-sweet _halitus_ of some drug. Craig's head on the pillow was wound with the white swathing and the nurse stood beside the bed. The doctor came forward, and the secretary spoke to him in an undertone. All at once Craig opened his eyes. He looked acutely at the faces so near him, the cloth-covered table with its instruments, the white-capped nurse. "I--know," he said. He tried to lift a hand to his bandaged head. "How--bad?" The doctor laid a professional hand on the one that strayed across the coverlet. "We want to pull you through, Mr. Craig," he said with soothing assurance, "and you must help us by wiping every anxiety from your mind. Only a dozen words with your secretary here, to help you stop even thinking, and then you are going to sleep." The young man came to the bed-side. "It was an attempted burglary, as you probably realised, sir. Two men were hidden in the library and you were shot when they tried to get away. One of them has been caught. The servants say a lady was with you at the time and the police want to know who she was." Craig did not reply immediately. Echo had slipped away in the confusion! Well, so much the better. Her presence could not have helped. It was no more to his interest than to hers--since she was to be his wife--that the story of her midnight call should be bruited abroad. "I--don't know--her," he said. "I'll tell them so," said the secretary. "The safe had been opened, but its contents are practically intact. I have checked up all the papers on the list and there seems to be only one thing missing. Perhaps you took that out yourself. It is the last item on the list--a package of letters." A quick gleam crossed the white face on the pillow. "Gone? No--no. Impossible. They were--of no--value to--any one but me." "You may have put them in your desk," said the other. He turned to the surgeon. "The police want to bring up the man for identification." The man of medicines frowned. "I suppose it has to be," he said. "Tell them to do so quickly. Only a word," he warned the wounded man. A moment or two later the secretary tapped again at the door and it opened upon the two policemen. Harry walked between, the chain on his wrists clinking lightly as he stepped. One of them came forward to the foot of the great bed. "You saw the man who shot you, Mr. Craig?" "Yes." He beckoned and Harry and his guardian moved forward into range of vision. "You solemnly swear that what you shall say is the truth?" "Yes." "Is this the one?"