“I’ve got a gentleman inside what lives ’ere, sir. ’E ain’t very well, I think.”
Startled by the news Austin and Grant rushed to the cab, and with the assistance of the driver succeeded in getting out the unconscious form of the Colonial Secretary.
“I’d send the lady away, sir—if I were you,” whispered the taxi-driver to Wingate. “I fancy the gentleman ’as ’ad just a drop too much wine at dinner. ’E seems as if ’e ’as!”
Amazed at such a circumstance Sheila, overhearing the man’s words, stood horrified. Her father was one of the most temperate of men. Such a home-coming as that was astounding! The three men carried the prostrate statesman inside into the small sitting-room on the right, after which Austin, completely upset, handed the taxi-man five shillings, and with a brief word of thanks dismissed him.
Meanwhile Sheila had rushed into the dining-room to obtain a glass of water, hoping to revive her father. Old Grant, faithful servant that he was, had thrown himself upon his knees by the couch whereon his master had been placed.
He peered into his pale face, which was turned away from the silk-shaded electric light, and then suddenly gasped to Wingate: “Why! It isn’t Mr Reginald at all, sir! He’s wearing his clothes, his watch and chain—and everything! But he’s a stranger—it isn’t Mr Reginald! Look for yourself!”