And in the brief moment of that
resumee of his position the knocking came again. But feebler,
as though the suppliant outside had exhausted his strength.
As Beresford drew his revolver and moved to the door, Miss Cornelia
came in, followed by Lizzie.
"It's the Bat," Lizzie announced mournfully. "Good-by, Miss Neily.
Good-by, everybody. I saw his hand, all covered with blood. He's
had a good night for sure!"
But they ignored her. And Beresford flung open the door.
Just what they had expected, what figure of horror or of fear they
waited for, no one can say. But there was no horror and no fear;
only unutterable amazement as an unknown man, in torn and muddied
garments, with a streak of dried blood seaming his forehead like a
scar, fell through the open doorway into Beresford's arms,
"Good God!" muttered Beresford, dropping his revolver to catch the
strange burden. For a moment the Unknown lay in his arms like a
corpse. Then he straightened dizzily, staggered into the room, took
a few steps toward the table, and fell prostrate upon his face--at
the end of his strength.
"Doctor!" gasped Miss Cornelia dazedly and the Doctor, whatever
guilt lay on his conscience, responded at once to the call of his
profession.
He bent over the Unknown Man--the physician once more--and made
a brief examination.
"He's fainted!" he said, rising. "Struck on the head, too."
"But who is he?" faltered Miss Cornelia.
"I never saw him before," said the Doctor.
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