"But how did it start?" he was asked again.
"The lamp was overturned," Grayle answered promptly. "You see, I got a message that this poor fellow Beresford—he was the deluded fanatic who was always getting locked up for seditious pamphlets, you know—that he wanted to see me on urgent business, so I went off, expecting to find that the fellow was in trouble again—I knew him slightly, you see; we'd met at people's houses—when I got there, we sat and talked a bit. Well, he was lame—like me...."
He paused and pulled at the bandage on his head.
"Where had I got to?" he asked a moment later.
"You sat and talked," Bertrand put in from behind.
Grayle turned round quickly and caught sight of him for the first time.
"You're the very man I've been wanting to see!" he exclaimed; and then to the others, "Excuse me a minute."
Bertrand pulled up a chair, as they withdrew.
"You must be grateful to me for coming when I did," he began. "The story didn't seem to be going with much of a swing."
"You can leave my explanation to take care of itself," Grayle answered shortly.