Annerly paused a moment.  Then he went on: 

“This singular occurrence was interpreted by Q, no doubt correctly, to indicate his own approaching death.  I did what I could to remove this feeling, but it was impossible to do so, and he presently wrung my hand and left me, firmly convinced that he would not live till morning.”

“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “and he died that night?”

“No, he did not,” said Annerly quietly, “that is the inexplicable part of it.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“He rose that morning as usual, dressed himself with his customary care, omitting none of his clothes, and walked down to his office at the usual hour.  He told me afterwards that he remembered the circumstances so clearly from the fact that he had gone to the office by the usual route instead of taking any other direction.”

“Stop a moment,” I said.  “Did anything unusual happen to mark that particular day?”

“I anticipated that you would ask that question,” said Annerly, “but as far as I can gather, absolutely nothing happened.  Q returned from his work, and ate his dinner apparently much as usual, and presently went to bed complaining of a slight feeling of drowsiness, but nothing more.  His stepmother, with whom he lived, said afterwards that she could hear the sound of his breathing quite distinctly during the night.”

“And did he die that night?” I asked, breathless with excitement.

“No,” said Annerly, “he did not.  He rose next morning feeling about as before except that the sense of drowsiness had apparently passed, and that the sound of his breathing was no longer audible.”

Annerly again fell into silence.  Anxious as I was to hear the rest of his astounding narrative, I did not like to press him with questions.  The fact that our relations had hitherto been only of a formal character, and that this was the first occasion on which he had invited me to visit him at his rooms, prevented me from assuming too great an intimacy.

“Well,” he continued, “Q went to his office each day after that with absolute regularity.  As far as I can gather there was nothing either in his surroundings or his conduct to indicate that any peculiar fate was impending over him.  He saw Miss M regularly, and the time fixed for their marriage drew nearer each day.”

“Each day?” I repeated in astonishment.

“Yes,” said Annerly, “every day.  For some time before his marriage I saw but little of him.  But two weeks before that event was due to happen, I passed Q one day in the street.  He seemed for a moment about to stop, then he raised his hat, smiled and passed on.”

“One moment,” I said, “if you will allow me a question that seems of importance—­did he pass on and then smile and raise his hat, or did he smile into his hat, raise it, and then pass on afterwards?”

“Your question is quite justified,” said Annerly, “though I think I can answer with perfect accuracy that he first smiled, then stopped smiling and raised his hat, and then stopped raising his hat and passed on.”