will remember me
presently, though not probably by name. Come in out of the rain. It is
impossible to talk here."

He spoke with a certain insistence. His hand held the Frenchman's arm. It
was obvious that he would listen to no refusal. And the man in rags
attempted none. He went with him meekly, as if bewildered into docility.
His single flash of pride had died out like the final flicker of a match.

With the Englishman's hand supporting him, he stumbled up a flight of
steps that led to the door of one of the houses in the quiet street,
waited till the turning of a latch-key opened the door, and again numbly
yielded to the steady insistence that drew him within.

He stood on a mat under a glaring electric lamp. The wet streamed down
him in rivulets; he was drenched to the skin.

Mechanically he pulled the cap from his head and tried to still his
chattering teeth. His lips were blue.

"This way," said the quiet voice. "Take my arm."

"But I am so damp, monsieur," he protested shakily. "It will make you
damp also."

"What of it? I daresay I shall survive it if you do." Very kindly the
voice made answer. He could not see the speaker plainly, for his brain
was in a whirl. He even wondered in a dull fashion if it were all a
dream, and if he would wake in a moment from his uneasy slumber to hear
the rain splashing down the gutters and the voice of a constable in his
ear bidding him move on.

He went up a flight of stairs, moving almost without his own volition,
the Englishman's arm around him, urging him upwards.

They came to the threshold of a room of which Mordaunt switched on the
light at entering, and in a moment more the tottering Frenchman found
himself pressed down into a chair. He covered his face with his hands and
sat motionless, trying to still the confusion in his brain. He was
shivering violently from head to foot.

There followed a pause of some duration, during which he must have been
alone; then again his unknown friend touched him, patted his shoulder,
spoke.

"Here's a hot drink. You will feel better when you have had it.
Afterwards you shall go to bed."

He raised his head and stared about him. Mordaunt, holding a cup of
steaming milk that gave out a strong aroma of brandy, was stooping over
him. There was another man in the room, evidently a servant, engaged in
kindling a fire.

Slowly the vagabond's gaze focussed itself upon Mordaunt's face. He saw
it clearly for the first time and gav