Yet to this day I cannot blame myself for abandoning my chambers and avoiding my club.
For a temporary asylum I pitched upon a small, quiet, empty, private hotel which I knew of in Charterhouse Square.

Instantly the room next mine became occupied.
All the first night I imagined I heard voices talking about me in that room next door.

It was becoming a disease with me.

Either I was being dogged, watched, followed, day and night, indoors and out, or I was the victim of a very ominous hallucination.

That night I never closed an eye nor lowered my light.