Scutts, in a dazed fashion, nodded. 

     "We have come to see your husband," said the intruder.  "I am a doctor." 

     The panic-stricken Mrs. Scutts tried in vain to think. 

     "He-he's asleep," she said, at last. 

     "Doesn't matter," said the doctor. 

     "Not a bit," said his companion. 

     "You—you can't see him," protested Mrs. Scutts.  "He ain't to be seen." 

     "He'd be sorry to miss me," said the doctor, eyeing her keenly as she stood on guard by the inner door.  "I suppose he's at home?" 

     "Of course," said Mrs. Scutts, stammering and flushing.  "Why, the pore man can't stir from his bed." 

     "Well, I'll just peep in at the door, then," said the doctor.  "I won't wake him. You can't object to that. If you do—" 

     Mrs. Scutts's head began to swim.  "I'll go up and see whether he's awake," she said. 

     She closed the door on them and stood with her hand to her throat, thinking. Then, instead of going upstairs, she passed into the yard and, stepping over the fence, opened Mr. Flynn's back door. 

     "Halloa!"  said that gentleman, who was standing in the scullery removing mud from his boots.  "What's up?" 

     In a frenzied gabble Mrs. Scutts told him.  "You must be 'im," she said, clutching him by the coat and dragging him towards the door.  "They've never seen 'im, and they won't know the difference." 

     "But—" exclaimed the astonished James. 

     "Quick!"  she said, sharply.  "Go into the back room and undress, then nip into his room and get into bed. And mind, be fast asleep all the time." 

     Still holding the bewildered Mr. Flynn by the coat, she led him into the house and waved him upstairs, and stood below listening until a slight creaking of the bed announced that he had obeyed orders. Then she entered the parlour. 

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