vening; and I really
think I had spoken before I had fully realised what was happening.

"From seeing whom?" I said, sitting up in bed.

"Whom?... You're not attending. The fellow I'm telling you about, who
runs after me," he answered--answered perfectly plainly.

I could see his head there on the pillow, black and white, and his
eyes were closed. He made a slight movement with his arm, but that did
not wake him. Then it came to me, with a sort of start, what was
happening. I slipped half out of bed. Would he--would he?--answer
another question?... I risked it, breathlessly:

"Have you any idea who he is?"

Well, that too he answered.

"Who he is? The Runner?... Don't be silly. _Who else should it be?_"

With every nerve in me tingling, I tried again.

"What happens, then, when he catches you?"

This time, I really don't know whether his words were an answer or not;
they were these:

"To hear him catching you up ... and then padding away ahead again! All
right, all right ... but I guess it's weakening him a bit, too...."

Without noticing it, I had got out of bed, and had advanced quite to the
middle of the floor.

"What did you say his name was?" I breathed.

But that was a dead failure. He muttered brokenly for a moment, gave a
deep troubled sigh, and then began to snore loudly and regularly.

I made my way back to bed; but I assure you that before I did so I filled
my basin with water, dipped my face into it, and then set the candlestick
afloat in it, leaving the candle burning. I thought I'd like to have a
light.... It had burned down by morning. Rooum, I remember, remarked on
the silly practice of reading in bed.

Well, it was a pretty kind of obsession for a man to have, wasn't it?
Somebody running after him all the time, and then ... running on ahead?
And, of course, on a broad pavement there would be plenty of room for
this running gentleman to run round; but on an eight- or nine-inch kerb,
such as that of the new road out Lewisham way ... but perhaps he was a
jumping gentleman too, and could jump over a man's head. You'd think he'd
have to get past some way, wouldn't you?... I remember vaguely wondering
whether the name of that Runner was not Conscience; but Conscience isn't
a matter of molecules and osmosis....

One thing, however, was clear; I'd got to tell Rooum what I'd learned:
for you can't get hold of a fellow's secrets in ways like that. I lost
no time about it. I told him, in fact, s