yself in the glass, I
have fancied that I saw in my mirrored face the lineaments of the great
bard; that the contour of my head is precisely the same as was his; that
when visiting Stratford for the first time every foot of it was pregnant
with clearly defined recollections to me, you will perhaps more easily
picture to yourself my sensations at the moment.

However, enough of describing the machine in its relation to myself. I
have said sufficient, I think, to convince you that whatever its make,
its age, and its limitations, it was an extraordinary affair; and, once
convinced of that, you may the more readily believe me when I tell you
that it has gone into business apparently for itself--and incidentally
for me.

It was on the morning of the 26th of March last that I discovered the
curious condition of affairs concerning which I have essayed to write.
My family do not agree with me as to the date. They say that it was on
the evening of the 25th of March that the episode had its beginning; but
they are not aware, for I have not told them, that it was not evening,
but morning, when I reached home after the dinner at the Aldus Club.
It was at a quarter of three A.M. precisely that I entered my house
and proceeded to remove my hat and coat, in which operation I was
interrupted, and in a startling manner, by a click from the dark
recesses of the library. A man does not like to hear a click which
he cannot comprehend, even before he has dined. After he has dined,
however, and feels a satisfaction with life which cannot come to him
before dinner, to hear a mysterious click, and from a dark corner, at
an hour when the world is at rest, is not pleasing. To say that my heart
jumped into my mouth is mild. I believe it jumped out of my mouth and
rebounded against the wall opposite back though my system into my boots.
All the sins of my past life, and they are many--I once stepped upon a
caterpillar, and I have coveted my neighbor both his man-servant and his
maid-servant, though not his wife nor his ass, because I don't like his
wife and he keeps no live-stock--all my sins, I say, rose up before me,
for I expected every moment that a bullet would penetrate my brain,
or my heart if perchance the burglar whom I suspected of levelling a
clicking revolver at me aimed at my feet.

"Who is there?" I cried, making a vocal display of bravery I did not
feel, hiding behind our hair sofa.

The only answer was another click.

"This is