"You were on the first floor," interjected Holmes.

"No." Holmes's remark broke her concentration momentarily. "No, it was the second."

"I see. Go on."

"I landed on grass. I crouched for a moment, listening, for it seemed to me I had made a dreadful amount of noise. Then all my panic flooded my mind at once. I ran, out the back. I ran and ran, down little alleys, keeping to the dark and shadows. I do not think I could retrace my steps; my mind was all in pieces. Everything around me seemed dirty and strange. I came to a wide river. It seemed to me that there were things behind me in the dark.

I waded in, fell into the cold water and let it carry me away. I felt better while swimming; the water hid me, held me. I floated for a long time, just paddling gently. Then I fetched up against a stone wall. I swam along it until I came to some stone steps. I crawled up on the steps and just sat. I felt cold and dizzy and sick. I wrapped the sheet around me-I don't know how I came still to have it, for I don't remember carrying it with me. I sat for a long time. A man in a uniform came out of the darkness and began to ask me questions. I could not answer him; I did not know the answers. He brought me here."

Her narrative trailed off. She shook her head, an unhappy half-smile upon her lips, and met my companion's eyes in a gaze of most earnest entreaty. "Do you think me mad?" she asked quietly.

Holmes met her gaze unflinchingly. "No," said he.

She studied his face with penetrating concentration, then sat back with a little nod, as if satisfied by what she saw there. "You are a man of your word," she murmured. Her inward look returned, and she fell silent.

"Well, Inspector Lestrade," said Holmes, rising briskly, "that should give you something to go on."