Exeter behind us, I began to feel drowsy, and before the engine came to a standstill at Okehampton was fast asleep.
I remember no more of that ill-fated journey; nor, indeed, have I any recollection of anything at all, until I woke up in Room No. 37 of the Ship and Vulture Hotel in Plymouth.
The sunshine was streaming in through the slats of the Venetian blinds, and a gentleman with a dignified aspect, a rosy face, and grey hair was standing by my bedside, holding my wrist in his hand, and calmly scrutinising me. A nurse in hospital dress stood beside him.
"I think he'll do now," he said to her as he rubbed his plump hands together; "but I'll look round in the course of the afternoon."
"One moment," I said feebly, for I found I was too weak almost to speak. "Would you mind telling me where I am, and what is the matter with me?"
"I should very much like to be able to," was the doctor's reply. "My own opinion is, if you want me to be candid, that you have been drugged and well-nigh poisoned, in a remarkably clever manner. But what the drug and the poison were, and who administered it to you and their motive, is more than I can tell you. From what I can learn from the hotel proprietors you were brought here from the railway station in a cab last night by a gentleman who happened to find you in the carriage in which you travelled down from London. You were in such a curious condition that I was sent for and this nurse procured. Now you know all about it."
"What day did you say this is?"
"Saturday, to be sure."
