It was obvious that he
spoke the truth. "Does anyone recognize him?"
All crowded about the Unknown, trying to read the riddle of his
identity. Miss Cornelia rapidly revised her first impressions of
the stranger. When he had first fallen through the doorway into
Beresford's arms she had not known what to think. Now, in the
brighter light of the living-room she saw that the still face,
beneath its mask of dirt and dried blood, was strong and fairly
youthful; if the man were a criminal, he belonged, like the Bat, to
the upper fringes of the world of crime. She noted mechanically
that his hands and feet had been tied, ends of frayed rope still
dangled from his wrists and ankles. And that terrible injury on
his head! She shuddered and closed her eyes.
"Does anyone recognize him?" repeated the Doctor but one by one
the others shook their heads. Crook, casual tramp, or honest
laborer unexpectedly caught in the sinister toils of the
Cedarcrest affair--his identity seemed a mystery to one and all.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Miss Cornelia, shuddering again.
"It's hard to say," answered the Doctor. "I think not." The
Unknown stirred feebly--made an effort to sit up. Beresford and
the Doctor caught him under the arms and helped him to his feet.
He stood there swaying, a blank expression on his face.
"A chair!" said the Doctor quickly. "Ah--" He helped the
strange figure to sit down and bent over him again.
"You're all right now, my friend," he said in his best tones of
professional cheeriness.
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