“Now the next misfortune?”

“Faith, that was av a sort likely to turn out the last of all misfortunes.  I wint that day to the Crystial Palace, bein’ dishposed for a little sphort, seein’ as I was new to London.  Comin’ home at night, there was a juce av a crowd on the station platform, consekins of a late thrain.  Sthandin’ by the edge av the platform at the fore end, just as thrain came in, some onvisible murdherer gives me a stupenjus drive in the back, and over I wint on the line, mid-betwixt the rails.  The engine came up an’ wint half over me widout givin’ me a scratch, bekase av my centraleous situation, an’ then the porther-men pulled me out, nigh sick wid fright, sor, as ye may guess.  A jintleman in the crowd sings out:  ’I’m a medical man!’ an’ they tuk me in the waitin’-room, an’ he investigated me, havin’ turned everybody else out av the room.  There wuz no bones bruk, glory be! and the docthor-man he was tellin’ me so, after feelin’ me over, whin I felt his hand in me waistcoat pockut.

“‘An’ fwhat’s this, sor?’ sez I.  ‘Do you be lookin’ for your fee that thief’s way?’

“He laffed, and said:  ‘I want no fee from ye, me man, an’ I did but feel your ribs,’ though on me conscience he had done that undher me waistcoat already.  An’ so I came home.”

“What did they do to you on Saturday?”

“Saturday, sor, they gave me a whole holiday, and I began to think less of things; but on Saturday night, in a dark place, two blayguards tuk me throat from behind, nigh choked me, flung me down, an’ wint through all me pockuts in about a quarter av a minut.”

“And they took nothing, you say?”

“Nothing, sor.  But this mornin’ I got my worst dose.  I was trapesing along distreshful an’ moighty sore, in a street just away off the Strand here, when I obsarved the docthor-man that was at the Crystial Palace station a-smilin’ an’ beckonin’ at me from a door.

“‘How are ye now?’ sez he.  ‘Well,’ sez I, ‘I’m moighty sore an’ sad bruised,’ sez I.  ‘Is that so?’ sez he.  ‘Sthep in here.’  So I sthepped in, an’ before I could wink there dhropped a crack on the back av me head that sent me off as unknowledgable as a corrpse.  I knew no more for a while, sor, whether half an hour or an hour, an’ thin I got up in a room av the place, marked ‘To Let.’  ’Twas a house full av offices, by the same token, like this.  There was a sore bad lump on me head—­see ut, sor?—­an’ the whole warl’ was shpinnin’ roun’ rampageous.  The things out av me pockuts were lyin’ on the flure by me—­all barrin’ the key av me room.  So that the demons had been through me posseshins again, bad luck to ’em.”

“You are quite sure, are you, that everything was there except the key?” Hewitt asked.

“Certin, sor?  Well, I got along to me room, sick an’ sorry enough, an’ doubtsome whether I might get in wid no key.  But there was the key in the open door, an’, by this an’ that, all the shtuff in the room—­chair, table, bed, an’ all—­was shtandin’ on their heads twisty-ways, an’ the bedclothes an’ every thin’ else; such a disgraceful stramash av conglomerated thruck as ye niver dhreamt av.  The chist av drawers was lyin’ on uts face, wid all the dhrawers out an’ emptied on the flure.  ‘Twas as though an arrmy had been lootin’, sor!”