e brass coffer on the
table beside me. The fog seemed to have cleared from the room somewhat,
but since in the midnight stillness I could detect the muffled sounds
of sirens from the river and the reports of fog signals from the
railways, I concluded that the night was not yet wholly clear of the
choking mist. In accordance with a pre-arranged scheme we had decided
to guard "the key of India" (whatever it might be) turn and turn about
through the night. In a word--we feared to sleep unguarded. Now my
watch informed me that four o'clock approached, at which hour I was
to arouse Smith and retire to sleep to my own bedroom.

Nothing had disturbed my vigil--that is, nothing definite. True once,
about half an hour earlier, I had thought I heard the dragging and
tapping sound from somewhere up above me; but since the corridor
overhead was unfinished and none of the rooms opening upon it yet
habitable, I concluded that I had been mistaken. The stairway at the
end of our corridor, which communicated with that above, was still
blocked with bags of cement and slabs of marble, in fact.

Faintly to my ears came the booming of London's clocks, beating out
the hour of four. But still I sat beside the mysterious coffer,
indisposed to awaken my friend any sooner than was necessary,
particularly since I felt in no way sleepy myself.

I was to learn a lesson that night: the lesson of strict adherence to
a compact. I had arranged to awaken Nayland Smith at four; and because
I dallied, determined to finish my pipe ere entering his bedroom,
almost it happened that Fate placed it beyond my power ever to awaken
him again.

At ten minutes past four, amid a stillness so intense that the
creaking of my slippers seemed a loud disturbance, I crossed the room
and pushed open the door of Smith's bedroom. It was in darkness, but
as I entered I depressed the switch immediately inside the door,
lighting the lamp which swung form the center of the ceiling.

Glancing towards the bed, I immediately perceived that there was
something different in its aspect, but at first I found this
difference difficult to define. I stood for a moment in doubt. Then
I realized the nature of the change which had taken place.

A lamp hung above the bed, attached to a movable fitting, which
enabled it to be raised or lowered at the pleasure of the occupant.
When Smith had retired he was in no reading mood, and he had not even
lighted the reading-lamp, but had left it