“Is your head better?” asked the girl a moment later; and she slipped the photograph back into her bag.
“Yes, just a little better. But it still aches horribly,” Roddy replied. “I’m anxious to get to that spot in the wood.”
“To-morrow,” his father promised. “It’s already dark now. And to-morrow you will be much better.”
“And I’ll come with you,” Miss Sandys volunteered. “The whole affair is certainly most mysterious.”
“Yes. Neither Denton nor the doctor at Pangbourne can make out the nature of the drug that was given to me. It seems to have upset the balance of my brain altogether. But I recollect that house—the man and the woman and—and how she compelled me to do her bidding to—”
“To what?” asked the girl.
The young mining engineer drew a long breath and shook his head despairingly.
“I hardly know. Things seem to be going round. When I try to recall it I become bewildered.”
“Then don’t try to remember,” urged his father in a sympathetic voice. “Remain quiet, my boy, and you will be better to-morrow.”
The young fellow looked straight at the sweet-faced girl standing beside his chair. He longed to ask her how she became possessed of that photograph—to ask the dead girl’s name. But she had imposed silence upon him.