In the morning I took a four-wheel cab and drove straight to Harley Street; and, upon my soul, as I stood on the specialist's door-step, I could have sworn I saw the occupant of the room next mine dash by me in a hansom! "Ah!" said the specialist; "so you cannot sleep; you hear voices; you fancy you are being followed in the street.

You don't think these fancies spring entirely from the imagination?
Not entirely--just so.

And you keep looking behind you, as though somebody were at your elbow; and you prefer to sit with your back close to the wall.

Just so--just so.
Distressing symptoms, to be sure, but--but hardly to be wondered at in a man who has come through your nervous strain." A keen professional light glittered in his eyes.

"And almost commonplace," he added, smiling, "compared with the hallucinations you must have suffered from on that hen-coop! Ah, my dear sir, the psychological interest of your case is very great!" "It may be," said I, brusquely.