Mr. Newman raised his shut hands as high as he could; his tragic face compelled Carrick’s eyes.

“But my arms were bare and very brown, I noticed.  I was shouting vehemently, frantically, in some strange tongue.  It was a language I do not know; but I knew what I was shouting, and I know still.”

He stopped.  Carrick waited.

“What was it?” he asked at last.

For answer Mr. Newman raised his arms again, the hands clenched, in a sudden and savage gesture.

“I was shouting like this,” he said, and raised a voice that Carrick did not recognize.  “Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!”

He dropped his arms and stood staring at Carrick; then covered his face with his hands.

Carrick stood aghast and shaken.  At last he went to his friend and took his arm.

XIII

THE STRANGE PATIENT

There were only two arrivals by the train from London when it stopped at the little flower-banked station of Barthiam; and Mary, who was waiting for it, had no difficulty in deciding which of them was Professor Fish.  That great man never failed to look the part.  His tall, lean figure, stooping at the shoulders, his big, smooth-shaven face, mildly abstracted behind his glasses, but retaining always something of a keen and formidable character, his soft hat and great flapping ulster, made up a noticeable personality anywhere.  He seemed alone to crowd the little platform; the small man who accompanied him was lost in his shadow.

“Professor Fish?” accosted Mary primly, at his elbow.

He turned upon her with a movement like a swoop.

“I am Mary Pond,” she explained.  “My father was called away to a case, so he sent me to meet you and bring you up to the house.  I have a fly waiting.”

“Ah!” The Professor nodded and was bland.  “Very good of you to take the trouble, Miss Pond.  I am much obliged.”  He stepped aside to let his companion be seen.  “This,” he explained, “is your—­er—­guest.”

Mary put out her hand, but the little man, who had been standing behind the Professor, made no motion to take it.  He was staring at the planks of the platform; he lifted his eyes for an instant to glance at her, and dropped them again at once.  Mary saw a listless, empty face, pale eyes, and pale hair, a mere effect of vacuity and weakness.  The man drooped where he stood as though he were no more than half alive; his clothes were grotesquely ill-fitting.  A little puzzled, she looked up to the Professor, and saw that he was watching her.

“How do you do?” she asked gently of the little man.

The Professor answered for him.  “He does very well, Miss Pond,” he said robustly.  “Much better than he thinks.  Between ourselves,” dropping his voice and nodding at her with intention, “a most remarkable case.  Very remarkable indeed.  And now, if I can find a porter, we might as well be moving.”