“Yes,” the stranger owned, “but I don’t know that there wasn’t something more extraordinary still.  From time to time the girl in the stateroom kept piping up, with a shriek for help.  She had got past the burglar stage, but she wanted to be saved, anyhow, from some danger which she didn’t specify.  It went through me that it was very strange nobody called the porter, and I set up a shout of ‘Porter!’ on my own account.  I decided that if there were burglars the porter was the man to put them out, and that if there were no burglars the porter could relieve our groundless fears.  Sure enough, he came rushing in, as soon as I called for him, from the little corner by the smoking-room where he was blacking boots between dozes.  He was wide enough awake, if having his eyes open meant that, and he had a shoe on one hand and a shoe-brush in the other.  But he merely joined in the general up-roar and shouted for the police.”

“Excuse me,” Wanhope interposed.  “I wish to be clear as to the facts.  You had reasoned it out that the porter could quiet the tumult?”

“Never reasoned anything out so clearly in my life.”

“But what was your theory of the situation?  That your friend, Mr. Melford, had a nightmare in which he was dreaming of burglars?”

“I hadn’t a doubt of it.”

“And that by a species of dream-transference the nightmare was communicated to the young lady in the stateroom?”

“Well—­yes.”

“And that her call for help and her cry of burglars acted as a sort of hypnotic suggestion with the other sleepers, and they began to be afflicted with the same nightmare?”

“I don’t know that I ever put it to myself so distinctly, but it appears to me now that I must have reached some such conclusion.”

“That is very interesting, very interesting indeed.  I beg your pardon.  Please go on,” Wanhope courteously entreated.

“I don’t remember just where I was,” the stranger faltered.

Rulledge returned with an accuracy which obliged us all:  “’The porter merely joined in the general uproar and shouted for the police.’”

“Oh yes,” the stranger assented.  “Then I didn’t know what to do, for a minute.  The porter was a pretty thick-headed darky, but he was lion-hearted; and his idea was to lay hold of a burglar wherever he could find him.  There were plenty of burglars in the aisle there, or people that were afraid of burglars, and they seemed to think the porter had a good idea.  They had hold of one another already, and now began to pull up and down the aisles in a way that reminded me of the old-fashioned mesmeric lecturers, when they told their subjects that they were this or that, and set them to acting the part.  I remembered how once when the mesmerist gave out that they were at a horse—­race, and his subjects all got astride of their chairs, and galloped up and down the hall like a lot of little boys on laths.  I thought of that now, and although