and suddenly I was being forced towards
the grave. I struggled, shouted, appealed to the mourners, but they
continued stonily following the service; the old clergyman, too,
never faltered droning and sniffing through the ritual. I realised
I was invisible and inaudible, that overwhelming forces had their
grip on me. I struggled in vain, I was forced over the brink, the
coffin rang hollow as I fell upon it, and the gravel came flying
after me in spadefuls. Nobody heeded me, nobody was aware of me. I
made convulsive struggles and awoke.

"The pale London dawn had come, the place was full of a chilly grey
light that filtered round the edges of the window blinds. I sat up,
and for a time I could not think where this ample apartment, with
its counters, its piles of rolled stuff, its heap of quilts and
cushions, its iron pillars, might be. Then, as recollection came
back to me, I heard voices in conversation.

"Then far down the place, in the brighter light of some department
which had already raised its blinds, I saw two men approaching. I
scrambled to my feet, looking about me for some way of escape, and
even as I did so the sound of my movement made them aware of me. I
suppose they saw merely a figure moving quietly and quickly away.
'Who's that?' cried one, and 'Stop there!' shouted the other. I
dashed around a corner and came full tilt--a faceless figure,
mind you!--on a lanky lad of fifteen. He yelled and I bowled him
over, rushed past him, turned another corner, and by a happy
inspiration threw myself behind a counter. In another moment feet
went running past and I heard voices shouting, 'All hands to the
doors!' asking what was 'up,' and giving one another advice how to
catch me.

"Lying on the ground, I felt scared out of my wits. But--odd as
it may seem--it did not occur to me at the moment to take off my
clothes as I should have done. I had made up my mind, I suppose, to
get away in them, and that ruled me. And then down the vista of the
counters came a bawling of 'Here he is!'

"I sprang to my feet, whipped a chair off the counter, and sent it
whirling at the fool who had shouted, turned, came into another
round a corner, sent him spinning, and rushed up the stairs. He
kept his footing, gave a view hallo, and came up the staircase hot
after me. Up the staircase were piled a multitude of those
bright-coloured pot things--what are they?"

"Art pots," suggested Kemp.

"That's it! Art pots. Well, I turned at