The Unknown shook his head with a slow, laborious gesture.
“Not—yet.”
“Or where you came from?”
Once more the battered head made its movement of negation.
“Do you remember how you got in this house?” The Unknown made an effort.
“Yes—I—remember—that—all—right” he said, apparently undergoing an enormous strain in order to make himself speak at all. He put his hand to his head.
“My—head—aches—to—beat—the—band,” he continued slowly.
Miss Cornelia was at a loss. If this were acting, it was at least fine acting.
“How did you happen to come to this house?” she persisted, her voice unconsciously tuning itself to the slow, laborious speech of the Unknown.
“Saw—the—lights.”