, as the Irishman raised his hand and
opened his mouth, preparatory to another torrent of complaint; "just say
in ten words, if you can, what they've done to you."

"I will, sor. Wan day had I been in London, sor--wan day only, an' a low
scutt thried to poison me dhrink; next day some udther thief av sin shoved
me off av a railway platform undher a train, malicious and purposeful;
glory be, he didn't kill me! but the very docther that felt me bones
thried to pick me pockut, I du b'lieve. Sunday night I was grabbed
outrageous in a darrk turnin', rowled on the groun', half strangled, an'
me pockuts nigh ripped out av me trousies. An' this very blessed mornin'
av light I was strook onsensible an' left a livin' corpse, an' my lodgin's
penethrated an' all the thruck mishandled an' bruk up behind me back. Is
that a panjandhery for the polis to laff at, sor?"

Had Hewitt not been there I think I should have done my best to quiet the
poor fellow with a few soothing words and to persuade him to go home to
his friends. His excited and rather confused manner, his fantastic story
of a sort of general conspiracy to kill him, and the absurd reference to
the doctor who tried to pick his pocket seemed to me plainly to confirm my
first impression that he was insane. But Hewitt appeared strangely
interested.

"Did they steal anything?" he asked.

"Divil a shtick but me door-key, an' that they tuk home an' lift in the
door."

Hewitt opened his office door.

"Come in," he said, "and tell me all about this. You come, too, Brett."

The Irishman and I followed him into the inner office, where, shutting the
door, Hewitt suddenly turned on the Irishman and exclaimed sharply: "_Then
you've still got it_?"

He looked keenly in the man's eyes, but the only expression there was one
of surprise.

"Got ut?" said the Irishman. "Got fwhat, sor? Is ut you're thinkin' I've
got the horrors, as well as the polis?"

Hewitt's gaze relaxed. "Sit down, sit down!" he said. "You've still got
your watch and money, I suppose, since you weren't robbed?"

"Oh, that? Glory be, I have ut still! though for how long--or me own head,
for that matter--in this state of besiegement, I can not say."

"Now," said Hewitt, "I want a full, true, and particular account of
yourself and your doings for the last week. First, your name?"

"Leamy's my name, sor--Michael Leamy."

"Lately from Ireland?"

"Over from Dublin this last blessed Wednesday, and a crooil bad