My eyes wandered to other beds around, all of them occupied, and on the wall was a gigantic crucifix. Then I knew that I was in a hospital. My head was bandaged, and two doctors seemed to be re-adjusting the folds of linen.
I inquired in English where I was, but suddenly recollected that I was in Milan, and in the same language the elder of the two doctors replied—
“Don’t trouble where you are, my dear sir. For the present remain quiet, and get better. You’ve taken a turn now, and will recover. Be thankful for that.”
“How long have I been here?” I asked, gazing around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
“Three days,” replied the sister, a calm-faced elderly woman, who wore a huge rosary and crucifix suspended from her girdle. “We thought you would not recover—until yesterday. But you will soon be better now.”
Then I recollected the terrible fate of the young Countess of Stanchester.
And after pondering and wondering I lapsed again into a lethargic state, remaining so for many hours.
It was not before the following day that my senses really fully returned, and when they did there came to my bedside a short rather stout fussy little man in a soft hat and snuff-coloured suit, by whose bearing I knew him at once to be a delegato of the Milan police.
“I regret to disturb you, signore,” he commenced, as he seated himself at my side, “but in the circumstances it is necessary. Are you aware of the conditions under which you were discovered?”
“No,” I answered. “Tell me.”