at once established herself by his side.

"You're going to lose your job here, nurse," Quest told her, smiling.

The nurse glanced at French.

"The change seems to be doing him good, any way," she remarked. "I haven't
seen him look so bright yet."

"Can you remember anything about the wreck, French?" Quest enquired.

The Inspector passed his hand wearily over his forehead.

"It seems more like a dream--or rather a nightmare--than anything," he
admitted. "I was sitting opposite Craig when the crash came. I was
unconscious for a time. When I came to, I was simply pinned down by the
side of the car. I could see a man working hard to release me, tugging and
straining with all his might. Every now and then I got a glimpse of his
face. It seemed queer, but I could have sworn it was Craig. Then other
people passed by. I heard the shriek of a locomotive. I could see a doctor
bending over some bodies. Then it all faded away and came back again. The
second time I was nearly free. The man who had been working so hard was
just smashing the last bit of timber away, and again I saw his face and
that time I was sure that it was Craig. Anyway, he finished the job. I
suddenly felt I could move my limbs. The man stood up as though exhausted,
looked at me, called to the doctor, and then he seemed to fade away. It
might have been because I was unconscious myself, for I don't remember
anything else until I found myself in bed."

"It would indeed," the Professor remarked, "be an interesting
circumstance--an interesting psychological circumstance, if I might put it
that way--if Craig, the arch-criminal, the man who has seemed to us so
utterly devoid of all human feeling, should really have toiled in this
manner to set free his captor."

"Interesting or not," Quest observed, "I'd like to know whether it was
Craig or not. I understand there were about a dozen unrecognisable bodies
found."

The nurse, who had left the room for a few minutes, returned with a small
package in her hand, which she handed to French. He looked at it in a
puzzled manner.

"What can that be?" he muttered, turning it over. "Addressed to me all
right, but there isn't a soul knows I'm here except you people. Will you
open it, Miss Laura?"

She took it from him and untied the strings. A little breathless cry
escaped from her lips as she tore open the paper. A small black box was
disclosed. She opened the lid with trembling fingers and drew out a scrap
of paper.