By this time Grant had arrived in the hall to let out Miss Sheila's visitor, and indeed he had opened the door for him, when at that same moment a taxi, turning in from Curzon Street, slowly drew up at the kerb before the house. The driver alighted quickly and, crossing hurriedly to Austin, said: "I've got a gentleman inside what lives 'ere, sir. 'E ain't very well, I think." Startled by the news Austin and Grant rushed to the cab, and with the assistance of the driver succeeded in getting out the unconscious form of the Colonial Secretary. "I'd send the lady away, sir--if I were you," whispered the taxi-driver to Wingate. "I fancy the gentleman 'as 'ad just a drop too much wine at dinner. 'E seems as if 'e 'as!" Amazed at such a circumstance Sheila, overhearing the man's words, stood horrified. Her father was one of the most temperate of men. Such a home-coming as that was astounding! The three men carried the prostrate statesman inside into the small sitting-room on the right, after which Austin, completely upset, handed the taxi-man five shillings, and with a brief word of thanks dismissed him. Meanwhile Sheila had rushed into the dining-room to obtain a glass of water, hoping to revive her father. Old Grant, faithful servant that he was, had thrown himself upon his knees by the couch whereon his master had been placed. He peered into his pale face, which was turned away from the silk-shaded electric light, and then suddenly gasped to Wingate: "Why! It isn't Mr Reginald at all, sir! He's wearing his clothes, his watch and chain-- and everything! But he's a stranger--it isn't Mr Reginald! Look for yourself!" CHAPTER THREE. THE WHISPERED NAME. Austin Wingate approached the unconscious man, and scrutinised the white, drawn features closely. When Grant had uttered those words, he could hardly believe his ears. Had the shock been too much for the old man's reason? But as he gazed intently, the conviction grew upon him that Grant was right. There was a little resemblance between the Cabinet Minister and the insensible man lying there. Their figures were much the same, and in the half-light a mere cursory glance could not have detected them apart. But to those who, like Grant and Austin, knew Reginald Monkton intimately, there were striking points of difference at once apparent. Wingate drew a deep sigh of relief. "You are right. Grant, it is not your master! He looks ghastly, doesn't he? The driver said that he was drunk, but I don't believe it. The man, whoever he is, seems to me as if he were dying." At that moment, Sheila, her cheeks pale, her hand trembling so that she spilled the glass of water she was carrying, came into the sitting-room. Austin rushed towards her and, taking the glass from her, pressed her trembling hand. At a moment of acute tension like that, he knew she would not resent the action.