"Dr. Robbins was up and dressed, as it happened, sir. Directly the reverend gentleman told him what was the matter, he came along at once, and we got down to the warehouse just as the clocks were striking half-past one. It's in a kind of little side street, sir, just off the river, and at that hour it was quiet as the grave—not a soul about nowhere. We went up to the house, and the doctor he rapped on the door with his stick. There was no answer, so he rapped again louder, and after a bit we heard someone fumbling with the latch. At last the door began to open slowly, and the man I'd followed put his head out round the corner. He seemed half-drunk still, sir, and the language he used was something shocking. The doctor didn't take much notice of him, though. He just shoved the door wide open and took him by the shoulder. 'Look here, my man,' he said to him, sharp-like, 'I'm a doctor, and I've come to see your lodger. If you make any trouble about it, we shall send straight away for the police.' That did the trick all right, sir. Directly the fellow heard the police mentioned, he crumpled up as if he'd been shot. Then he began to whine out that he hadn't done anything wrong, and that he knew nothing about the man who was lodging there. 'No one's accusing you,' said the doctor; 'all you've got to do is to take us to him, and be quick about it.' Well, sir, he led us down a passage into a most filthy-smelling sort of room. It was quite dark at first, but the doctor he had one of those little pocket-lamps, which he turned on, and there, on a bundle of rags in the corner, was a man lying and groaning something dreadful to listen to. The doctor walked across and looked him over for a minute without speaking. Then he pulled out a pocket-book and wrote down something on one of the pages. 'Take this round to my house,' he says to me, tearing it out, 'and come back with the things as quickly as possible. You'll find my assistant there: he'll give you what I want. Father Merrill and I will wait here.'"
"What was the drunken man doing?" asked the magistrate.
"He was standing in the corner, sir, mumbling to himself. No one took any notice of him."
"And you went to the doctor's house and got the things he needed?"
"Yes, sir. I was back at the warehouse in under the hour. Father Merrill let me in, and I found that he and the doctor had lit some candles and got things a bit straight generally. The man on the bed had stopped groaning, but he still seemed very bad. The doctor was bending over him, doing him up with bandages and things: I could see he was cut about something shocking."
"Was he conscious?"
"Not rightly, I don't think, sir. He was talking in a kind of broken English, but it sounded to me all nonsense so far as I could hear. More like singing than talking, as you might say. The doctor gave him some medicine out of one of the bottles I'd brought, and that seemed to quiet him, sir. Anyway, he stopped the noise he was making. The doctor went on sponging and strapping him up till he'd done what he could, and then he comes across to Father Merrill and me. 'He's got it right enough,' he says. 'He'll probably recover consciousness before he goes off, though.'"
"What time was this?" inquired the magistrate.
"About a quarter to three, sir, I should reckon. Anyhow, I know it didn't begin to get light for some time after. There we stayed, all three of us, sitting on the window-sill or on a bench there was against the wall, and watching the man. We didn't dare to leave the room, for the doctor said he might wake up like any minute, and if we wanted to ask him anything that would be our only chance. While we waited, I told the doctor the whole story the same as I'd told it to Father Merrill."
"And where was the gentleman who owned the house all this time?"