The man whom the landlord called "Ben" was the first to appear on
the stairs. In three words Arthur told him what had happened, and
sent him for the nearest doctor.

I, who tell you this story, was then staying with a medical
friend of mine, in practice at Doncaster, taking care of his
patients for him during his absence in London; and I, for the
time being, was the nearest doctor. They had sent for me from the
inn when the stranger was taken ill in the afternoon, but I was
not at home, and medical assistance was sought for elsewhere.
When the man from The Two Robins rang the night-bell, I was just
thinking of going to bed. Naturally enough, I did not believe a
word of his story about "a dead man who had come to life again."
However, I put on my hat, armed myself with one or two bottles of
restorative medicine, and ran to the inn, expecting to find
nothing more remarkable, when I got there, than a patient in a
fit.

My surprise at finding that the man had spoken the literal truth
was almost, if not quite, equaled by my astonishment at finding
myself face to face with Arthur Holliday as soon as I entered the
bedroom. It was no time then for giving or seeking explanations.
We just shook hands amazedly, and then I ordered everybody but
Arthur out of the room, and hurried to the man on the bed.

The kitchen fire had not been long out. There was plenty of hot
water in the boiler, and plenty of flannel to be had. With these,
with my medicines, and with such help as Arthur could render
under my direction, I dragged the man literally out of the jaws
of death. In less than an hour from the time when I had been