A knock at the door broke in upon them. Mrs. Bowse presented herself,
wearing a novel expression on her face. It was at once puzzled and not
altogether disagreeably excited.

"I wish you would come down into the dining-room, Little Ann." She
hesitated. " Mr. Tembaron's brought home such a queer man. He picked
him up ill in the street. He wants me to let him stay with him for the
night, anyhow. I don't think he's crazy, but I guess he's lost his
memory. Queerest thing I ever saw. He doesn't know his name or
anything."

"See here," broke out Hutchinson, dropping his hands and his paper on
his knee, "I'm not going to have Ann goin' down stairs to quiet
lunatics."

"He's as quiet as a child," Mrs. Bowse protested. "There's something
pitiful about him, he seems so frightened. He's drenched to the skin."

"Call an ambulance and send him to the hospital," advised Hutchinson.

"That's what Mr. Tembarom says he can't do. It frightens him to death
to speak of it. He just clings to Mr. Tembarom sort of awful, as if he
thinks he'll save his life. But that isn't all," she added in an
amazed tone; "he's given Mr. Tembarom more than two thousand dollars."

"What!" shouted Hutchinson, bounding to his feet quite unconsciously.

"What!" exclaimed Little Ann.