a vague sense of calamity, he sought the porter at the
entrance lodge. "Where is Mr. Bessel?" he asked. "Do you know that
all the furniture is broken in Mr. Bessel's room?" The porter said
nothing, but, obeying his gestures, came at once to Mr. Bessel's
apartment to see the state of affairs. "This settles it," he said,
surveying the lunatic confusion. "I didn't know of this. Mr. Bessel's
gone off. He's mad!"

He then proceeded to tell Mr. Vincey that about half an hour
previously, that is to say, at about the time of Mr. Bessel's
apparition in Mr. Vincey's rooms, the missing gentleman had rushed out
of the gates of the Albany into Vigo Street, hatless and with
disordered hair, and had vanished into the direction of Bond Street.
"And as he went past me," said the porter, "he laughed--a sort of
gasping laugh, with his mouth open and his eyes glaring--I tell you,
sir, he fair scared me!--like this."

According to his imitation it was anything but a pleasant laugh. "He
waved his hand, with all his fingers crooked and clawing--like that.
And he said, in a sort of fierce whisper, 'Life!' Just that one word,
'Life!'"

"Dear me," said Mr. Vincey. "Tut, tut," and "Dear me!" He could think
of nothing else to say. He was naturally very much surprised. He
turned from the room to the porter and from the porter to the room in
the gravest perplexity. Beyond his suggestion that probably Mr. Bessel
would come back presently and explain what had happened, their
conversation was unable to proceed. "It might be a sudden toothache,"
said the porter, "a very sudden and violent toothache, jumping on him
suddenly-like and driving him wild. I've broken things myself before
now in such a case..." He thought. "If it was, why should he say
'life' to me as he went past?"

Mr. Vincey did not know. Mr. Bessel did not return, and at last Mr.
Vincey, having done some more helpless staring, and having addressed a
note of brief inquiry and left it in a conspicuous position on the
bureau, returned in a very perplexed frame of mind to his own premises
in Staple Inn. This affair had given him a shock. He was at a loss to
account for Mr. Bessel's conduct on any sane hypothesis. He tried to
read, but he could not do so; he went for a short walk, and was so
preoccupied that he narrowly escaped a cab at the top of Chancery Lane;
and at last--a full hour before his usual time--he went to bed. For a
considerable time he could not sleep