For the moment I could not lift a foot.
With that--either this was all a dream or I heard footsteps on the flat roof outside; very slow, soft footsteps, too, as of somebody walking on tiptoe.

But if on tiptoe, why was he coming _towards_ me?
Yet so it was; my ear told me distinctly.
As his feet crunched the leads close outside the window I caught a gleam of scarlet; then the frame grew dark between me and the daylight, and through the pane a man peered cautiously into the room.
It was Archibald Plinlimmon.
He peered in, turning his face sideways for a better view and shading it, after a moment, with his hand.

So shaded, and with the daylight behind it, his face after that first instant became an inscrutable blur.
But while he peered speech broke from me--words and a wild laugh.
"Look at it! Look at it!" I cried, and pointed.
He drew back instantly, and was gone.
"Don't leave me! Mr.Plinlimmon--please don't leave me!" I made a leap for the window--halted helplessly--and fell back again from the body.

I was alone again.

But power to move had come back, and I must use it while it lasted.