Three days later I recovered consciousness in a hospital. As the memory of that tragic¹ night slowly evolved in my ailing² brain I recognized in my attendant Moxon's confidential³ workman, Haley. Responding to a look he approached, smiling.

'Tell me about it,' I managed to say, faintly -- 'all about it.'

'Certainly,' he said; 'you were carried unconscious from a burning house -- Moxon's. Nobody knows how you came to be there. You may have to do a little explaining. The origin of the fire is a bit mysterious, too. My own notion is that the house was struck by lightning.'

'And Moxon?'

'Buried yesterday -- what was left of him.'

Apparently⁴ this reticent⁵（沉默的） person could unfold himself on occasion. When imparting shocking intelligence to the sick he was affable enough. After some moments of the keenest mental suffering I ventured to ask another question:

'Who rescued me?'

'Well, if that interests you -- I did.'

'Thank you, Mr. Haley, and may God bless you for it. Did you rescue, also, that charming product of your skill, the automaton⁶ chess-player that murdered its inventor?'

The man was silent a long time, looking away from me. Presently he turned and gravely said:

'Do you know that?'

'I do,' I replied; 'I saw it done.'

That was many years ago. If asked to-day I should answer less confidently.