I remember raising myself, after he had gone, in an endeavour to reach a cupboard where there was some brandy in a bottle, but as I made a step forward all strength let me. I became paralysed, clutched at the table, missed it, and fell headlong to the floor. Then all consciousness became blotted out. I knew no more.
How long I remained insensible I have only a very vague idea. It must have been many hours. When, however, I slowly became aware of things about me, I found myself lying upon my own bed partly dressed. I tried to move, but my limbs seemed icy cold and rigid; I tried to think, but my thoughts were at first only a confused jumble of reminiscences. There was a tearing pain across my stomach, and across my brow—a pain that was excruciating. It seemed as though my waist was bound tightly with a belt of wire, while my brain throbbed as if my skull must burst.
I opened my eyes, but the bright light of day caused me to close them quickly again.
Noises sounded about me, strange and distorted. I distinguished voices, and I knew that I was not alone. Again I opened my eyes.
“Thank Heaven! my dear old fellow, you are saved!” cried Dick, whose coat was off, as he bent down eagerly to me, looking with keenest anxiety into my face.
“Saved!” I echoed. “What has happened?” for at that moment I recollected little of the past.
Then I saw, standing beside Dick, my friend, Dr Tweedie, of the Royal Free Hospital in Gray’s Inn Road, a mild-mannered old gentleman whom I had many times met during my inquiries at that institution.
“What’s happened?” the latter repeated. “That’s what we want to ask you?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, “except that I was suddenly taken frightfully queer.”
“Taken queer! I should rather think you were,” he said, bending down to get a better look at my countenance, at the same time feeling my pulse. “You’re better now, much better. But it’s been a very narrow squeak for you, I can tell you.”