But Godfrey’s voice, shrill with excitement, brought me around with a start.

“Lester!” he shouted.  “Lend a hand here!”

Wondering what new horror lay in wait, I fought my way into the other room, stumbled over the body of the Thug, barely saved myself, my scalp prickling with terror, from falling upon it, and pitched forward to where Godfrey was bending above that huddled shape I had glimpsed through the smoke.

“Catch hold!” he panted; and choking, staggering, suffocating, we dragged it into the outer room.  “Get a window open!” he gasped.  “Get a window open!”

And Simmonds, whom nothing seemed to shake, groped along the wall until he found a window, pulled the hangings back, threw up the sash, and flung back the shutters.

“Quick!” said Godfrey.  “Over there.  Now hold the torch.”

And as I took it and pressed the button with a trembling finger, the halo of light fell upon a bloodless face—­the face of Marjorie Vaughan.

Simmonds was supporting her, and Godfrey, with frantic fingers, was loosening her robe at the throat.  My terrified eyes, staring at that throat, half-expected to find a cruel mark there, but its smoothness was unsullied.  The robe loosened, Godfrey snatched his cap from his head and began to fan the fresh air in upon her.

“Pray heaven it is not too late!” he murmured, and kept on fanning, watching the white lips and delicate nostrils, so drawn and livid.  “We must try artificial respiration,” he said, after a moment.  “But not here—­this atmosphere is stifling.  Take her feet, Lester.”

We staggered out with her, somehow, across the hall, into her room, and laid her on her bed.  Godfrey, kneeling above her, began to raise and lower her arms, with a steady, regular rhythm.

“Open the windows wide,” he commanded, without looking up.  “Wet a towel, or something, in cold water, and bring it here.”

Simmonds threw open the windows, while I went mechanically to the bath-room, wet a towel, and slapped it against her face and neck as Godfrey directed.  The moments passed, and at last the lips opened in a fluttering sigh, the bosom rose with a full inhalation, and a spot of colour crept into either cheek.

“Thank God!” said Godfrey, in a voice that was almost a sob.  “Now, Simmonds, go out and bring that Irish girl, and send one of your men to ’phone for Hinman.”

Simmonds sent one of his men scurrying with a word, and himself dashed up the stairs to the other floor.  He was back in a moment, almost dragging the frightened girl with him.  Her teeth were chattering and she started to scream when she saw that still form on the bed, but Simmonds shook her savagely.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Godfrey assured her.  “Your mistress isn’t dead—­she’ll soon come around.  But you must get her undressed and to bed.  And then keep bathing her face with cold water till the doctor comes.  Understand?”