But to her gratitude succeeded a sudden wave of fear, and her face went paler than before.
“But, Austin, there must be some terrible mystery behind this. Why is this man wearing father’s clothes? And why—” she broke suddenly into a low wail—“is father not home?”
Austin could make no answer; the same thought had occurred to him.
“My poor child, there is a mystery, but you must summon all your courage till we can discover more,” he murmured soothingly. “Now I must go and ’phone for the doctor. In my opinion, this man is not suffering from excess, as that driver led us to believe. He appears to be in a dying state.”
When he had gone to ring up the family doctor, who lived close by in Curzon Street, Sheila again knelt down beside the prostrate form.
Presently the man’s lips began to move and faint sounds issued from them. He seemed trying to utter a name, and stumbling over the first syllable.
They strained their ears, and thought they caught the word “Moly” repeated three times.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then the muttering grew louder and they thought they heard the name “Molyneux.”
“Oh, if only he could wake from his sleep or lethargy!” Sheila exclaimed impatiently. “If he could only throw some light upon this awful mystery?”
He relapsed into silence again, and then presently recommenced his mutterings. This time, he pronounced the syllables even less clearly than before. And now they fancied the name was more like “Mulliner.”