'That's what I want to know. In particular, I want to know what is the meaning of Mr Guy Holland's presence in your room?'
'Holland?' She put her hand up to her head in an effort to collect her thoughts. She spoke as if with an imperfect apprehension of what it was she was saying. 'He was in the street--lying--on his face--so I brought him here--before the policeman came.'
'Before the policeman came? What do you mean? How did you know that he was lying in the street?'
'I saw--the Flyman--from the window--knock him down--he took the ruby.'
'The Flyman? Who is he?'
'A man--Horace knows--I knew--Horace had set him on. I didn't want him to get into trouble, so I brought him here. It was all I could do to carry him up the stairs--he was so heavy.'
'And do you mean to say you've had Mr Holland hidden in your room all day and night?'
'All day--and night. He's dead. The Flyman killed him. Horace will get into trouble--when it's known.'
Miss Casata, in her condition of semi-consciousness, said more than she had warrant for. Mr Holland was not dead. Even as she asserted that he was, he showed that her assertion was an error. While the still partly-stupefied woman struggled to get out of the darkness into the light, there came a cry from the white-faced girl on the other side of the bed.
'May, he moves!'