Footsteps rang from the hall. Came a knock at the door; a voice penetrated the panels.
Dana rose, found the light-switch and turned it. The flood of yellow gave warmth and strength to her--showed her a blue coil in the middle of the room. Dimly she realized it was a turban cloth--probably torn from the intruder's head. She did not touch it, but unlocked the door.
The Eurasian proprietor stood outside, in a dressing-gown. Behind him was a dark-skinned porter. A door opened further along the hall.
"My brother!" she gasped, motioning toward the white form.
The Eurasian spoke to the porter. They entered and placed the unconscious man upon the bed. Oblivious of the fact that she was clad only in a nightdress, Dana stood by, trying to collect her scattered faculties.
"If you will call a doctor," she said, "I'll attend to him now."
"Yes, madam. I'll have the boy fetch some water and smelling-salts from my wife's room. How did this happen?"
"I--I can't think--now," she returned dazedly. "Later...."
The Eurasian said something, but she did not remember what it was; remembered only that he and the porter went out. A moment after the door closed she heard voices in the hall.
"O Alan!" she pleaded, bending over her brother. "Can't you hear me?"
Several minutes passed before he showed any symptoms of reviving; then he mumbled a few unintelligible words, and the lids drew back from his eyes.
"The scarf--confounded imitation." He closed his eyes; opened them an instant later. "I'll be all right,"--with a smile. "Nothing serious. Don't mention the scarf, or anything about it. Just say--thief...." The lids sank over his eyes. "Imitation," he muttered. And fainted again.
... The Eurasian returned shortly, with the porter at his heels. The latter carried a basin of water and several bottles.
"If you'll allow me to attend to him," offered the proprietor, "it will spare you much unpleasantness."
Dana nodded and sank into a chair, shivering.
Nearly an hour passed before the doctor arrived. Alan had regained consciousness, but fainted during the examination. Dana, standing beside the bed in her negligee, waited nervously to hear the decision.
"I don't think you have any cause to be uneasy," said the doctor, after what seemed an interminable time. "The wound isn't serious--only the muscles and tissues punctured--nothing internal. But I'm going to suggest, rather, insist, that he go to a hospital."