because of his memory of the
silent confusion of Mr. Bessel's apartment, and when at length he did
attain an uneasy slumber it was at once disturbed by a very vivid and
distressing dream of Mr. Bessel.

He saw Mr. Bessel gesticulating wildly, and with his face white and
contorted. And, inexplicably mingled with his appearance, suggested
perhaps by his gestures, was an intense fear, an urgency to act. He
even believes that he heard the voice of his fellow experimenter
calling distressfully to him, though at the time he considered this to
be an illusion. The vivid impression remained though Mr. Vincey awoke.
For a space he lay awake and trembling in the darkness, possessed with
that vague, unaccountable terror of unknown possibilities that comes
out of dreams upon even the bravest men. But at last he roused
himself, and turned over and went to sleep again, only for the dream to
return with enhanced vividness.

He awoke with such a strong conviction that Mr. Bessel was in
overwhelming distress and need of help that sleep was no longer
possible. He was persuaded that his friend had rushed out to some dire
calamity. For a time he lay reasoning vainly against this belief, but
at last he gave way to it. He arose, against all reason, lit his gas,
and dressed, and set out through the deserted streets--deserted, save
for a noiseless policeman or so and the early news carts--towards Vigo
Street to inquire if Mr. Bessel had returned.

But he never got there. As he was going down Long Acre some
unaccountable impulse turned him aside out of that street towards
Covent Garden, which was just waking to its nocturnal activities. He
saw the market in front of him--a queer effect of glowing yellow lights
and busy black figures. He became aware of a shouting, and perceived a
figure turn the corner by the hotel and run swiftly towards him. He
knew at once that it was Mr. Bessel. But it was Mr. Bessel
transfigured. He was hatless and dishevelled, his collar was torn
open, he grasped a bone-handled walking-cane near the ferrule end, and
his mouth was pulled awry. And he ran, with agile strides, very
rapidly. Their encounter was the affair of an instant. "Bessel!"
cried Vincey.

The running man gave no sign of recognition either of Mr. Vincey or of
his own name. Instead, he cut at his friend savagely with the stick,
hitting him in the face within an inch of the eye. Mr. Vincey, stunned
and astonished, staggered back, los