“And this wretch—this insolent scoundrel,” cried Mr. Grahame, “you fastened upon him, I presume, and thus was most murderously assaulted?”
“No,” said Lester Vane, speaking slowly, and with distinctness, “the moonlight fell upon his face—that I saw clearly and well defined.”
“You would know it again?” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, with eagerness.
“Amid a million faces,” he answered, between his teeth, and then added: “He was a common-looking person, and I should have let him pass, but he made a desperate blow at me, although he did not utter a word. I avoided his first attack, and collared him, determined to punish him for his cowardly and dastardly conduct. I called for assistance, as I had no intention of entering into a personal conflict with a low ruffian about whom I knew nothing, but he inflicted upon my forehead a blow with some weapon which rendered me insensible. And so ends my history.”
“Most monstrous!” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, with an air of indignant pride. “I never heard of such an outrage. You can describe the man, Mr. Vane, so that the police may be able to track him, and take him into custody?”
“Oh, accurately,” replied Lester, “but not to-night. My head aches, and the task would be an annoyance—to-morrow with pleasure, but to-night excuse me.”
“But the creature with this desperate person—could you not, my dear Mr. Vane, describe her—if it were only her attire?” urged Mr. Grahame.
“She may be in the house,” interposed Mrs. Grahame, feeling that a deadly outrage had been committed upon the family pride.
“She may be in the house,” returned Lester, with a peculiar glance directed to Helen; “all I can inform you, in reply to your question, is that her dress was of some light fabric, but as she fled past me like a phantom, I was not able to observe her sufficiently well to give a description of the lady.”
“The lady, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Grahame, in a tone of immeasurable contempt. “To-morrow, Mr. Grahame, this strange affair must be thoroughly sifted.”