That assurance, though soothing to the doctor’s self-esteem, added gravely to his sense of responsibility.

While they were yet speaking, Lefevre was further troubled by the announcement that a detective-inspector desired to speak with him!  Should he tell the inspector all that he had seen the night before, and all that he suspected now, or should he hold his peace?  His duty as a citizen, as a doctor, and as, in a sense, the protector of his patient, seemed to demand the one course, while his consideration for Julius and for his own family suggested the other.  Surely, never was a simple, upright doctor involved in a more bewildering imbroglio!

The detective-inspector entered, and opened an interview which proved less embarrassing than Lefevre had anticipated.  The detective had already made up his mind about the case and his course regarding it.  He put no curious questions; he merely inquired concerning the identity and the condition of the lady.  When he heard who she was, and when he caught the import of an aside from Lord Rivercourt that it would be worth any one’s while to discover the mysterious offender, professional zeal sparkled in his eye.

“I think I know my man,” said he; and the doctor looked the lively interest he felt.  “I am right, I believe, Dr Lefevre, in setting this down to the author of that other case you had,—­that from the Brighton train?” Lefevre thought he was right in that. “‘M.  Dolaro:’  that was the name.  I had charge of the case, and was baffled.  I shan’t miss him this time.  I shall get on his tracks at once; he can’t have left the Park in broad daylight, a singular man like him, without being noticed.”

“It rather puzzles me,” said the doctor, “what crime you will charge him with.”

“It is an outrage,” said Lord Rivercourt; “and if it is not criminal, it seems about time it were made so.”

“Oh, we’ll class it, my lord,” said the detective; “never fear.”

The detective departed; but Lord Rivercourt seemed not inclined to stir.

“You will excuse me,” said Lefevre; “but I must perform a very delicate operation.”

“To be sure,” said the old lord; “and you want me to go.  How stupid of me!  I kept waiting for my daughter to wake up; but I see that, of course, you have to rouse her.  It did not occur to me what that machine meant.  Something magneto-electric—­eh?  Forgive one question, Lefevre.  I can see you look anxious:  is Mary’s condition very serious?—­most serious?  I can bear to be told the complete truth.”

The doctor was touched by the old gentleman’s emotion.  He took his hand.  “It is serious,” said he—­“most serious, for this reason, that I cannot account for her obstinate lethargy; but I think there is no immediate danger.  If necessity arises, I shall send for you again.”

“To the House,” said Lord Rivercourt.  “I shall be sitting out a debate on our eternal Irish question.”