“I waited one single second to be sure the candle was alight, and then dashed after it, but before I had gone two steps, my foot stumbled against something hard piled up on the carpet and I only just saved myself from falling headlong.  I picked myself up and found that all the books from what I called my ‘language shelf’ were strewn across the floor.  The room, meanwhile, as a minute’s search revealed, was quite empty.  I looked in every corner and behind every stick of furniture, and a student’s bedroom on a top floor, costing twelve shillings a week, did not hold many available hiding-places, as you may imagine.

“The crash, however, was explained.  Some very practical and physical force had thrown the books from their resting-place.  That, at least, was beyond all doubt.  And as I replaced them on the shelf and noted that not one was missing, I busied myself mentally with the sore problem of how the agent of this little practical joke had gained access to my room, and then escaped again. For my door was locked and bolted.

“Smith’s odd question as to whether I was disturbed in the night, and his warning injunction to let him know at once if such were the case, now of course returned to affect me as I stood there in the early morning, cold and shivering on the carpet; but I realised at the same moment how impossible it would be for me to admit that a more than usually vivid nightmare could have any connection with himself.  I would rather stand a hundred of these mysterious visitations than consult such a man as to their possible cause.

“A knock at the door interrupted my reflections, and I gave a start that sent the candle grease flying.

“‘Let me in,’ came in Smith’s voice.

“I unlocked the door.  He came in fully dressed.  His face wore a curious pallor.  It seemed to me to be under the skin and to shine through and almost make it luminous.  His eyes were exceedingly bright.

“I was wondering what in the world to say to him, or how he would explain his visit at such an hour, when he closed the door behind him and came close up to me—­uncomfortably close.

“‘You should have called me at once,’ he said in his whispering voice, fixing his great eyes on my face.

“I stammered something about an awful dream, but he ignored my remark utterly, and I caught his eye wandering next—­if any movement of those optics can be described as ’wandering’—­to the book-shelf.  I watched him, unable to move my gaze from his person.  The man fascinated me horribly for some reason.  Why, in the devil’s name, was he up and dressed at three in the morning?  How did he know anything had happened unusual in my room?  Then his whisper began again.

“‘It’s your amazing vitality that causes you this annoyance,’ he said, shifting his eyes back to mine.

“I gasped.  Something in his voice or manner turned my blood into ice.

“‘That’s the real attraction,’ he went on.  ’But if this continues one of us will have to leave, you know.’