"A glass of water," I said, catching the glance of the man Beeton,
who stood trembling at the open doorway.

Spilling a liberal quantity upon the carpet, Beeton ultimately
succeeded in conveying the glass to me. Hale, never taking his gaze
from Smith, gulped a little of the water and then thrust my hand away.
As I turned to place the tumbler upon a small table the resumed the
wordless babbling, and now, with his index finger, pointed to his
mouth.

"He has lost the power of speech!" whispered Smith.

"He was stricken dumb, gentlemen, ten minutes ago," said Beeton in a
trembling voice. "He dropped off to sleep out there on the floor, and
I brought him in here and laid him on the bed. When he woke up he was
like that!"

The man on the bed ceased his inchoate babbling and now, gulping
noisily, began to make quick nervous movements with his hands.

"He wants to write something," said Smith in a low voice. "Quick! hold
him up!" He thrust his notebook, open at a blank page, before the man
whose movement were numbered, and placed a pencil in the shaking
right hand.

Faintly and unevenly Sir Gregory commenced to write--whilst I
supported him. Across the bent shoulders Smith silently questioned me,
and my reply was a negative shake of the head.