Paul's eyes wandered vacantly. His nervous fingers twitched at the ulster that he wore.
"What's this?" he said, and glanced down at his altered dress.
"When you were insensible they stripped you of your clothes and put others on you," said Mercy.
"Whose clothes are these?"
"Mr. Drayton's."
Paul Ritson rose to his feet.
"Where are the men?" he said, in a husky voice.
"Gone."
"Where?"
"To the station—that was all I heard."