“Tell me, who brought me here? Whose house is this?” I demanded.
He gazed at me, open-mouthed, in astonishment.
“I—er—You’re not well, sir, I think. This is your own house.”
“Mine?” I cried incredulously. “Nonsense. Who are you, pray?”
“I’m your secretary,” he replied, adding, “I—I’ll return in a moment;” and then, in evident alarm, he disappeared.
I had no time to reflect upon the mystery of the situation before there entered a tall, beautiful woman, of what might be termed the Junoesque type, attired in a handsome dinner-gown.
“Why, my dear, whatever have you been saying to Norton? You’ve quite frightened him,” she exclaimed, laughing. “How is it that you’re not dressed? You remember we promised to dine with the Websters to-night.”
“I—I confess I don’t understand you, madam,” I gasped, for my brain was in a whirl, and everything seemed in maddening confusion. The pain in my head was intense.
“What’s the matter? What has happened?” she cried in alarm. “Don’t you recognise me—Lena, your wife?”
“My wife?” I gasped, astounded. “No, I’ve never seen you before. It’s some trick. Where is the box—the box that was with me in the train?”