The lids closed. The man relapsed into a state of lethargy. The Inspector was puzzled;—and said so.
‘What’s he mean about a beetle?’
Atherton replied.
‘I think I understand what he means,—and my friends do too. We’ll explain afterwards. In the meantime I think I’d better get as much out of him as I can,—while there’s time.’
‘Yes,’ said the doctor, his hand upon the patient’s pulse, ‘while there’s time. There isn’t much—only seconds.’
Sydney endeavoured to rouse the man from his stupor.
‘You’ve been with Miss Lindon all the afternoon and evening, haven’t you, Mr Holt?’
Atherton had reached a chord in the man’s consciousness. His lips moved,—in painful articulation.
‘Yes—all the afternoon—and evening—God help me!’
‘I hope God will help you my poor fellow; you’ve been in need of His help if ever man was. Miss Lindon is disguised in your old clothes, isn’t she?’