ng was very faint--having had the soft tablecloth for a
desk, perhaps--and showed only a meandering line, curving in and out
through a group of dots. From every angle I studied it, coming to two
conclusions: first, that it could mean nothing; and second, that I must
have imbibed more freely than I thought to have overlooked this.

But now I saw, fainter than the dots, something that resembled written
words. They were so obscure, indeed, that although the light was
excellent my jostling cab made it impossible for me to decipher them.
Telling the driver to stop, I bent over again, and laboriously read:

"I am on Mr. Graham's yacht in great da----"

At this place, as I looked back upon last night, the old chap had
indicated his wish to leave, and she, tearing off a corner, had let the
wine card slip to the floor. It explained the broken word, the sudden
interruption; and this much was not a dream, neither was the disturbing
message in my hands--for what else but "danger" could the "da" mean?

All was ready to weigh anchor when I stepped aboard, and when we were
outside the harbor, drawing nicely toward the north, Tommy came up
grumbling.

"This mystery's getting heavy," he said. "Put us wise!"

So I pushed him into a chair, and called the professor and Gates; then
when the four of us were comfortably settled, the cushions fitting our
shoulders, our pipes alight, our spirits glowing with that exhilaration
which a yacht can bring as she lays over and cuts the waves, I told the
story from beginning to end--sparing Sylvia where I should.

For some minutes they smoked with their eyes downcast. Then Monsieur
looked up in his mild way, asking:

"May I see the paper?"

I passed it to him and we drew together, studying it.

"This is the most singular part of the affair," he said, leaning back,
"because it first came to you in fact, although the man's returning for
it was told in the dream--and later verified. The dots and line mean
nothing, perhaps, but that interrupted message!--ah, truly it spells
danger! What danger? She spoke of no danger in the dream?"

Now, it may seem strange or not, but I had begun to lose track of the
places where the dream came in and where they left off. The actual was
so woven with the unreal that I had to stop and consider this question.
The paper episode, the vividness with which Sylvia had appeared to me,
the brass frame made in the imitation of a porthole, and the camera's
film, all cont