“Alan, I entreat you.  Think of the position I am in.  Just before you came I almost fainted with terror.  You may know terror yourself some day.  No! don’t think of that.  Look at the matter purely from the scientific point of view.  You don’t inquire where the dead things on which you experiment come from.  Don’t inquire now.  I have told you too much as it is.  But I beg of you to do this.  We were friends once, Alan.”

“Don’t speak about those days, Dorian—­they are dead.”

“The dead linger sometimes.  The man upstairs will not go away.  He is sitting at the table with bowed head and outstretched arms.  Alan!  Alan!  If you don’t come to my assistance, I am ruined.  Why, they will hang me, Alan!  Don’t you understand?  They will hang me for what I have done.”

“There is no good in prolonging this scene.  I absolutely refuse to do anything in the matter.  It is insane of you to ask me.”

“You refuse?”

“Yes.”

“I entreat you, Alan.”

“It is useless.”

The same look of pity came into Dorian Gray’s eyes.  Then he stretched out his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it.  He read it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the table.  Having done this, he got up and went over to the window.

Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and opened it.  As he read it, his face became ghastly pale and he fell back in his chair.  A horrible sense of sickness came over him.  He felt as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow.

After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.

“I am so sorry for you, Alan,” he murmured, “but you leave me no alternative.  I have a letter written already.  Here it is.  You see the address.  If you don’t help me, I must send it.  If you don’t help me, I will send it.  You know what the result will be.  But you are going to help me.  It is impossible for you to refuse now.  I tried to spare you.  You will do me the justice to admit that.  You were stern, harsh, offensive.  You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat me—­no living man, at any rate.  I bore it all.  Now it is for me to dictate terms.”

Campbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder passed through him.

“Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan.  You know what they are.  The thing is quite simple.  Come, don’t work yourself into this fever.  The thing has to be done.  Face it, and do it.”

A groan broke from Campbell’s lips and he shivered all over.  The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to him to be dividing time into separate atoms of agony, each of which was too terrible to be borne.  He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his forehead, as if the disgrace with which he was threatened had already come upon him.  The hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead.  It was intolerable.  It seemed to crush him.