They had lifted the man who had been left lying at the foot of the stairs, and carried him, still unconscious, into the kitchen. He was apparently quite a young man, with closely cropped hair and clean-shaven face, or, rather, his chin was covered with a four days' growth of bristling hair, while his dress consisted of a close-fitting suit of dark blue cloth, the coat-tails tucked in under the trouser band. "Here's a fine bird!" remarked Uncle Herbert, as he began to cut away the odd-looking clothing to get at a wound in the man's side. "You know where he comes from?" "No," replied my father. "Bodmin. He's escaped from the naval prison." "I wonder what he's been up to," remarked my father thoughtfully. "A naval prisoner does not usually associate with foreign seamen, and burglars to boot." "It's a clean cut, and not particularly dangerous," announced Uncle Herbert. "Bring the light closer, Reggie. Hello!" he added, looking at my face, which must have been horribly white. "This won't do. Run away to the other room, and, keep your head between your knees till you feel better. I can't have three patients on my hands." I did as I was bid, for everything was beginning to whirl round. Presently my father came in to get some brandy, for the second patient was recovering. As daylight began to dawn, they carried the man upstairs to my room, and presently, after a good deal of talking, my father and uncle came downstairs. "Run upstairs and get your things on, Reggie," said my father. "I want you to fetch the police sergeant. But, remember, don't say a word to any one about the man we have upstairs. It's only the Brazilian we are going to give in charge; he's coming to now. Remember what I say, and I'll tell you the reason later." "Did I understand him to say that the Brazilian was coming downstairs?" I heard my father remark. "Yes, I believe so," replied my uncle. "Then he must have been in one of our rooms. Only to think that that dirty scoundrel was hanging around us with his knife while we were asleep! I'll go upstairs and see if anything is touched." A moment later I heard my father shout, "It's gone!" "What's gone?" asked Uncle Herbert. "The box containing the cipher." "It can't be far, at all events," said my uncle. "Let's search the brute." I am afraid they were none too gentle with the man, but a thorough search revealed nothing. "Try the place where we caught him," suggested the pater, and we all three went outdoors, carefully examining the well-defined trail. After a lengthy search we found, not only the box, but a bundle of papers cunningly hidden under the shrubbery in a tangled mass of twigs and leaves. After glancing at the contents of the metal box, which was still intact, my father opened the packet of papers, and, to our surprise, they were the actual documents filched from my uncle's cabin on the ill-fated "Andrea Doria."