"I am sure of it," she answered. "His was a very peculiar illness, and I know that it puzzled the doctor very much. It was just the sort of illness to have led to a case of suspended animation."
"You think it possible," I asked, "that he is alive now?"
"It is quite possible," she answered, "but not very likely. He probably died with the slight effort he made in moving his arm. I am quite willing to go in and examine him, if you like, or would you prefer to wait until the doctor comes?"
"We will wait," I answered. "He cannot be more than a few minutes."
Almost as I spoke, I heard the dog-cart returning. I hurried downstairs and admitted the doctor. It was almost daybreak and very cold. A thin, grey mist hung over the park; a few stars were still visible. Eastwards, there was a faint break in the clouds.
"What's wrong?" he asked, as I closed the door behind him.
"Something very extraordinary, doctor," I answered, hurrying him upstairs. "Come and hear what the nurse has to say."
He looked at me in a puzzled manner, but I hurried him upstairs. The nurse met him on the landing. She whispered something in his ear, and they entered the bedchamber together. I remained outside.
In about ten minutes the door was thrown open, and the doctor appeared upon the threshold. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and there was a look upon his face which I had never seen there before. He had the appearance of a man who has been in touch with strange things.
"Some hot water," said he—"boiling, if possible. Don't ask me any questions, there's a good fellow!"