Conti returned to his bedroom. For
half an hour he sat in his nondescript costume, smoking cigarettes. He
was thoroughly satisfied with the night's work. It had been ordained
that his flat should be burgled, and he, Sylvanus Conti, professor of
hypnotism and mesmerism, seizing his opportunity, had diverted to his
own ends the august decrees of destiny.

He pictured Mr. William Gibson reading the account of his triumph in
the evening papers. He saw the headlines. He himself would inspire
them. He saw it all. Not only would those come back who had forsaken
him for "the English Mesmerist," but others also would want him. He
saw himself a "star turn" at one of the West-end halls.

He saw many things: fame, fortune, a motor-car, and, in the far
distance, the realisation of his great ambition, a scientific career.
In a way he was a little sorry for the burglar, the instrument of fate.

Throwing off his overcoat and removing his slippers, the Professor
switched off the light, got into bed, and was soon asleep.

CHAPTER III

THE HYPNOTIC FIASCO

I

Whilst Professor Conti was building elaborate castles in the air,
Bindle with tense caution crept down the three flights of stairs that
led to the street.

Everything was quiet and dark. As he softly closed the outer door
behind him he heard a clock striking three. Swiftly he removed the
bandages that swathed his head, tucked them in his pockets and stepped
out briskly.

He wanted to think, but above all he wanted food and drink.

As a precaution against the attentions of the police he began to
whistle loudly. None, he argued, would suspect of being a burglar a
man who was whistling at the stretch of his power. Once he stopped
dead and laughed.

"Joe Bindle," he remarked, "you been burglin', and you're mesmerised,
an' you're goin' to give yerself up to the police, an' don't you forget
it, as it might 'urt the Professor's feelings."

He slapped his knee, laughed again, recommenced whistling, and
continued on his way.

Occasionally his hand would wander in the direction of the left-hand
pocket of his coat, when, feeling the Professor's watch and chain and
the note to the police, his face would irradiate joy.

He _must_ think, however. He could not continue walking and whistling
for ever. He must think; and with Bindle to think it was necessary
that he should remain still. This he dare not do for fear of arousing
suspicion.

Once in turning a