still staring at me in obvious amazement.

"He came in through the window with the intention of borrowing a
little food. I had happened to see him in the garden, and being under
the natural impression that he was--er--well, another friend of ours,
I ventured to detain him."

Savaroff gave a short laugh. "But it's incredible," he muttered.

The girl was watching me curiously. "Poor man," she exclaimed, "he
must be starving!"

"My dear Sonia," said McMurtrie, "you reflect upon my hospitality. Mr.
Lyndon has been faring sumptuously on bread and milk."

"But he looks so wet and ill."

"He is wet and ill," rejoined the doctor agreeably. "That is just the
reason why I am going to ask you to heat some water and light a fire
in the spare bedroom. We don't want to disturb Mrs. Weston at this
time of night. I suppose the bed is made up?"

Sonia nodded. "I think so. I'll go up and see anyhow."

With a last glance at me she left the room, and Savaroff, taking off
his coat, threw it across the back of a chair. Then he came up to
where I was sitting.

"You don't look much like your pictures, my friend," he said,
unwinding the scarf that he was wearing round his neck.