humanity. He seemed to examine each
jar with attention, and then to pass on to the next. When he had come to
the end of the line, immediately opposite my bed, he stopped, faced me,
threw up his hands with a gesture of despair, and vanished from my
sight.

I have said that he threw up his hands, but I should have said his arms,
for as he assumed that attitude of despair I observed a singular
peculiarity about his appearance. He had only one hand! As the sleeves
drooped down from the upflung arms I saw the left plainly, but the right
ended in a knobby and unsightly stump. In every other way his appearance
was so natural, and I had both seen and heard him so clearly, that I
could easily have believed that he was an Indian servant of Sir
Dominick's who had come into my room in search of something. It was only
his sudden disappearance which suggested anything more sinister to me.
As it was I sprang from my couch, lit a candle, and examined the whole
room carefully. There were no signs of my visitor, and I was forced to
conclude that there had really been something outside the normal laws of
Nature in his appearance. I lay awake for the remainder of the night,
but nothing else occurred to disturb me.

I am an early riser, but my uncle was an even earlier one, for I found
him pacing up and down the lawn at the side of the house. He ran towards
me in his eagerness when he saw me come out from the door.

"Well, well!" he cried. "Did you see him?"

"An Indian with one hand?"

"Precisely."

"Yes, I saw him"--and I told him all that occurred. When I had finished,
he led the way into his study. "We have a little time before breakfast,"
said he. "It will suffice to give you an explanation of this
extraordinary affair--so far as I can explain that which is essentially
inexplicable. In the first place, when I tell you that for four years I
have never passed one single night, either in Bombay, aboard ship, or
here in England without my sleep being broken by this fellow, you will
understand why it is that I am a wreck of my former self. His programme
is always the same. He appears by my bedside, shakes me roughly by the
shoulder, passes from my room into the laboratory, walks slowly along
the line of my bottles, and then vanishes. For more than a thousand
times he has gone through the same routine."

"What does he want?"

"He wants his hand."

"His hand?"

"Yes, it came about in this way. I was summoned to Peshawur for a
c