“You are a first-rate witness.  Pray go on,” said Brett.

“Being a sailor, however, I did manage to twist round slightly as I fell, and I’m blessed if I didn’t think it was Davie here who did it.”

The barrister’s keen face lighted curiously.  The others, closely watching him, afterwards agreed that he reminded them of a greyhound straining after a luckless hare.

“That seems to interest you, Mr. Brett,” said Frazer.  “I assure you the momentary impression was very distinct.  My assailant was dressed like Davie, too, in dark blue serge, and wore a beard.  For the moment I forgot that Davie had visited the barber this morning, and I blurted out something when he met me being carried in through the hall.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Hume.  “You said:  ‘Davie, why did you try to murder me?’ I was sure you were delirious, as I had not left Nellie and Margaret for an instant since you went out.”

“That is so,” cried Helen.

Margaret uttered no word.  She sat, with hands clasped, and pale, set face, watching her cousin as if his story had a mesmeric effect.

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Frazer penitently.  “I knew at once I was a fool, but you see, old chap, I remembered you best as I had seen you during the previous twenty-four hours, and not as you looked at breakfast this morning.  Do forgive me.”

But Brett broke in impatiently: 

“My dear fellow, your natural mistake is the most important thing that has happened since your cousin Alan met his death.  The man who attacked you mistook you, in turn, for David.  He will try again.  I wonder if your accident will be reported in the papers?”

“Yes,” said Hume.  “A youngster came to me, inquired all about Robert, and seemed to be quite sorry he was not mangled.”

“Then it will be your affair next time.  Keep a close look-out whenever you are alone.  If anyone resembling yourself lays a hand on you, try and detain him at all costs.”

“Mr. Brett!” shrieked Helen, “you surely cannot mean it.”

His enthusiasm had caused him to ignore her presence.  For the next five minutes he was earnestly engaged in explaining away his uncanny request.

CHAPTER XX

THE TRAIL

Standing on the steps of the hotel, Brett cast a searching glance along the line of waiting hansoms.  He wanted a strong, sure-footed horse, one of those marvellous animals, found only in the streets of London, which trots like a dog, slides down Savoy Street on its hind legs, slips in and out among the traffic like an eel, and covers a steady eight miles an hour for a seemingly indefinite period.

“Shall I whistle for a cab, sir?” said the hall-porter.

“No.  You whistle without discrimination,” replied the barrister.

He found the stamp of gee-gee he needed fourth on the rank.

“How long has your horse been out of the stable?” he asked the driver.