a
way that he could hardly be repulsed without absolute brutality. Twice
he called to thank Smith for his assistance, and many times afterwards
he looked in with books, papers, and such other civilities as two
bachelor neighbours can offer each other. He was, as Smith soon found,
a man of wide reading, with catholic tastes and an extraordinary
memory. His manner, too, was so pleasing and suave that one came,
after a time, to overlook his repellent appearance. For a jaded and
wearied man he was no unpleasant companion, and Smith found himself,
after a time, looking forward to his visits, and even returning them.

Clever as he undoubtedly was, however, the medical student seemed to
detect a dash of insanity in the man. He broke out at times into a
high, inflated style of talk which was in contrast with the simplicity
of his life.

"It is a wonderful thing," he cried, "to feel that one can command
powers of good and of evil--a ministering angel or a demon of
vengeance." And again, of Monkhouse Lee, he said,--"Lee is a good
fellow, an honest fellow, but he is without strength or ambition. He
would not make a fit partner for a man with a great enterprise. He
would not make a fit partner for me."

At such hints and innuendoes stolid Smith, puffing solemnly at his
pipe, would simply raise his eyebrows and shake his head, with little
interjections of medical wisdom as to earlier hours and fresher air.

One habit Bellingham had developed of late which Smith knew to be a
frequent herald of a weakening mind. He appeared to be forever talking
to himself. At late hours of the night, when there could be no visitor
with him, Smith could still hear his voice beneath him in a low,
muffled monologue, sunk almost to a whisper, and yet very audible in
the silence. This solitary babbling annoyed and distracted the
student, so that he spoke more than once to his neighbour about it.
Bellingham, however, flushed up at the charge, and denied curtly that
he had uttered a sound; indeed, he showed more annoyance over the
matter than the occasion seemed to demand.

Had Abercrombie Smith had any doubt as to his own ears he had not to go
far to find corroboration. Tom Styles, the little wrinkled man-servant
who had attended to the wants of the lodgers in the turret for a longer
time than any man's memory could carry him, was sorely put to it over
the same matter.

"If you please, sir," said he, as he tidied down the top chamber on