I spoke to him, shouted, threatened, commanded; but he took no notice. Then I peered down close into his upturned face and fierce eyes, and the truth flashed upon me at once. I had been struggling with a madman, a hopeless, raving lunatic, and it was probably he who had made the attack upon us in the carriage.
My first impulse was one of deep gratitude for my escape; then I began to wonder what on earth I was to do with him. He was lying like a log now, perfectly quiet; but I knew that I had only to relax my hold upon him and the struggle would begin again—perhaps terminate differently. I could not take him into the house, for there was no room from which he could not easily escape. The only place seemed to me to be the coach-house. It was dry and clean, with no windows, save at the top, and with a good strong padlock. The coach-house would do, I decided, if only I could get him there.
I drew my handkerchief from my pocket, and, knotting it with my teeth, secured his hands as well as I could. Then, seizing him by the collar, I half dragged, half helped him up the garden path till we reached the coach-house, and, opening the door with one hand, I thrust him in. He made no resistance; in fact, he seemed utterly cowed; and a pitiable object he looked, crouched on the floor, with his face turned to the wall. I struck a match to obtain a better view of him.
His only attire was a grey flannel shirt and a pair of dark trousers, both of which were torn in places and saturated with rain. Of his face I could see little, for it was half hidden by the hair, matted with dirt and rain, and by his bushy whiskers and beard, ragged and unkempt. His feet were bare and black with a thick coating of mud; hence his soft, stealthy tread. Altogether, he was a gruesome object, as he lay a huddled heap against the wall, muttering to himself some unintelligible jargon.
Loosing his hands, I left him there, and, softly entering the house, found some food and rugs and took them out to him. He eyed the former ravenously, and before I could set it down he snatched a piece of bread from my hands and began eagerly to devour it. I put the remainder down by his side and, throwing the rugs over him, stole away.
CHAPTER XX.
THE MONASTERY AMONG THE HILLS.
When I awoke in the morning the sun was already high in the heavens and it was considerably past my usual hour of rising. I jumped out of bed at once and began my toilet. I had scarcely finished my bath when there came a loud tap at the door.
“Hallo!” I cried out. “Anything the matter?”
“Yes, sir. Please, sir, John wants to know whether you locked anything up in the coach-house last night. There was——”
“Yes, I did,” I interrupted quickly. “Tell him not to go there till I come down.”