luding six firemen. He himself
had been on the front seat of the motor-bus and had escaped with a
broken head and a badly-cut hand.

II

Professor Conti did not discover his loss until the porter handed him
his keys, enquiring at the same time if the Professor had heard
anything of the terrible collision between the motor-bus and
fire-engine. The Professor had not. He mounted to his flat with heavy
steps. He was tired and dispirited. In his bedroom he surveyed
himself mournfully in the mirror as he undid the buckle of his
ready-made evening-tie, which he placed carefully in the green
cardboard box upon the dressing-table. In these days a tie had to last
the week, aided by the application of French chalk to the salient folds
and corners.

Professor Sylvanus Conti, who had been known to his mother, Mrs.
Wilkins, as Willie, emphasised in feature and speech his cockney
origin. He was of medium height, with a sallow complexion--not the
sallowness of the sun-baked plains of Italy, but rather that of
Bermondsey or Bow.

He had been a brave little man in his fight with adverse conditions.
Years before, chance had thrown across his path a doctor whose hypnotic
powers had been his ruin. Willie Wilkins had shown himself an apt
pupil, and there opened out to his vision a great and glorious prospect.

First he courted science; but she had proved a fickle jade, and he was
forced to become an entertainer, much against his inclination. In time
the name of Professor Sylvanus Conti came to be known at most of the
second-rate music halls as "a good hypnotic turn"--to use the
professional phraseology.

One consolation he had--he never descended to tricks. If he were
unable to place a subject under control, he stated so frankly. He was
scientific, and believed in his own powers as he believed in nothing
else on earth.

He had achieved some sort of success. It was not what he had hoped
for; still, it was a living. It gave him food and raiment and a small
bachelor flat--he was a bachelor, all self-made men are--in a spot that
was Kensington, albeit West Kensington.

The Professor continued mechanically to prepare himself for the night.
He oiled his dark hair, brushed his black moustache, donned his long
nightshirt, and finally lit a cigarette. He was thinking deeply. His
dark, cunning little eyes flashed angrily. A cynical smile played
about the corners of his mouth, half hidden by the bristly black
moustache.