My reception at West Kensington you know of. In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. He rested on one elbow. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. Then she saw the bodies piled in the corner.
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