hat he must tear the knife from his own wound in
order to plunge it into the heart of the young man opposite him made him
feel as though he were already inwardly bleeding to death.

From being vague and blurred his senses now became preternaturally
acute. His surroundings were no longer dim and formless, rather
everything grew inhumanly sharp and vivid. To the end of his life he
would preserve an extraordinarily faithful recollection of the room into
which Cheniston presently ushered him--the usual hotel bedroom in India,
with high green walls, mosquito curtains, and an entire absence of all
superfluities in the way of furniture or adornment.

On the floor lay a Gladstone bag, half open as the owner had carelessly
left it; and Anstice found himself idly speculating as to whether the
white and purple striped glory which protruded from it was a shirt or a
pair of pyjamas....

His wandering thoughts were suddenly recalled to the affair of the
moment; and the minor things of life were forgotten in the onrush of the
vital things, the things which matter....

"Now, Dr. Anstice"--Anstice's professional instinct, so long in
abeyance, warned him that the man's self-control was only, so to speak,
skin-deep; and a quite unexpected and inexplicable rush of pity
overwhelmed him as the cold voice went on speaking--"I think you will
realize that I should like to hear your account of--of the affair that
took place in that accursed Temple."

"I quite realize that." Anstice spoke slowly. "And I am ready to answer
any questions you may like to ask."

"I--I think----" For a second Cheniston wavered, then spoke more
humanly. "Won't you sit down? I should like, if I may, to hear the whole
story from the beginning."

"I see. Well, you are quite within your rights in wishing to hear the
story. No, I won't sit down, thanks. It won't take very long to tell."

Cheniston moved a step backwards and sat down on the edge of the bed,
pushing the mosquito curtain impatiently aside. Then he took out his
cigarette case, and, still with his steel-blue eyes on the other man's
face, selected a cigarette which he held, unlighted, as he listened.

Standing in the middle of the floor, his hands in the pockets of his
coat, Anstice began his story, and in spite of the fact that this man
had robbed him of all that he held dear in life, Cheniston was forced to
admit that at least he was proving himself no coward.

"When we set off on that fatal picnic"-