When Dick recovered consciousness it was evening; the street was quiet, and he was lying upon a couch in a darkened room, with Philip Stukely and an elderly woman bending over him; the woman holding a basin of warm water, while Stukely assiduously bathed an ugly scalp wound on the crown of his head. The said head was throbbing and aching most atrociously, and when the young man sat up and attempted to rise to his feet he discovered, to his astonishment and chagrin, that he had no control over himself, the room seemed to be whirling and spinning round with him at bewildering speed, and his legs immediately collapsed under him. "Now, then, none of that, youngster," exclaimed Stukely, as he flung his arm round Chichester and gently lowered the lad back on the couch. "What a plague induced you to start up like that, all of a sudden, before I was ready for you? You will just have to lie still, young man, until I tell you that you may move. And how do you feel, now that you have seen fit to at last come to your senses?" "How do I feel?" reiterated Dick, trying to pass his hand over his forehead, and failing, for the member seemed heavier than lead. "Why, I seem to have no more strength than a baby; my head is nothing but one big, atrocious ache; and I don't seem to be able to remember things very well. For instance, I don't in the least know where we are, or how we got here; and--and--who is the--ah--lady, Phil?" "Don't you worry about the lady, youngster, she is all right, and proved herself to be a friend just when we badly needed one," answered Stukely. "The important thing just now is to find out precisely what is the matter with you; so have the goodness to answer my questions as clearly as possible, will ye?"