As long as I live I shall never forget the hopeless agony of Phyllis’s face.

‘Not—not—’ her lips refused to frame the dreadful word.

‘No, no, my dear,’ I cried. ‘We’ll bring him round, never fear.’

But inwardly I had little hope. He had been under water for half an hour. I sent off Settle to the house for hot blankets and other necessaries, and began myself to apply artificial respiration.

We worked vigorously with him for over an hour but there was no sign of life. I motioned to Settle to take my place again, and I approached Phyllis.

‘I’m afraid,’ I said gently, ‘that it is no good. Arthur is beyond our help.’

She stayed quite still for a moment and then suddenly flung herself down on the lifeless body.

‘Arthur!’ she cried desperately. ‘Arthur! Come back to me! Arthur—come back—come back!’

Her voice echoed away into silence. Suddenly I touched Settle’s arm. ‘Look!’ I said.

A faint tinge of colour had crept into the drowned man’s face. I felt his heart.

‘Go on with the respiration,’ I cried. ‘He’s coming round!’

The moments seemed to fly now. In a marvellously short time his eyes opened.

Then suddenly I realized a difference. These were intelligent eyes, human eyes . . .

They rested on Phyllis.

‘Hallo! Phil,’ he said weakly. ‘Is it you? I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.’

She could not yet trust herself to speak but she smiled at him. He looked round with increasing bewilderment.

‘But, I say, where am I? And—how rotten I feel! What’s the matter with me? Hallo, Dr Settle!’

‘You’ve been nearly drowned—that’s what’s the matter,’ returned Settle grimly.

Sir Arthur made a grimace.

‘I’ve always heard it was beastly coming back afterwards! But how did it happen? Was I walking in my sleep?’

Settle shook his head.

‘We must get him to the house,’ I said, stepping forward.

He stared at me, and Phyllis introduced me. ‘Dr Carstairs, who is staying here.’

We supported him between us and started for the house. He looked up suddenly as though struck by an idea.

‘I say, doctor, this won’t knock me up for the 12th, will it?’

‘The 12th?’ I said slowly, ‘you mean the 12th of August?’

‘Yes—next Friday.’

‘Today is the 14th of September,’ said Settle abruptly.

His bewilderment was evident.

‘But—but I thought it was the 8th of August? I must have been ill then?’

Phyllis interposed rather quickly in her gentle voice.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you’ve been very ill.’

He frowned. ‘I can’t understand it. I was perfectly all right when I went to bed last night—at least of course it wasn’t really last night. I had dreams though, I remember, dreams . . .’ His brow furrowed itself still more as he strove to remember. ‘Something—what was it? Something dreadful—someone had done it to me—and I was angry—desperate . . . And then I dreamed I was a cat—yes, a cat! Funny, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t a funny dream. It was more—horrible! But I can’t remember. It all goes when I think.’