was the word. "Murder, murder, murder!" he muttered, with agonized
face. Yet another word came to his lips.

"Huntingdon!"

"Murder--Huntingdon!" I said within myself as I linked the two words
together.

The sleeping man passed his hand across his forehead. It was evident
that he was in the midst of an agonizing dream--a vision of conviction.
Here stood the guilty man before me now, pale and motionless, the rays
from the moon lighting up his face and revealing the word "guilt"
written on every feature. I watched him and waited for something else to
come from his lips. I stood by his side for nearly an hour, but he did
nothing more than repeat these same two words. With measured tread he
turned to go. I followed him to his bedroom and heard him turn the key.
I sat up the whole night--thinking. None knew of the remarkable
discovery which I had made amongst poor Huntingdon's sketches; none
should know of what I had learnt to-night. By the morning I had fully
determined upon my course of action. The ramblings of a sleep-walking
man would not prove a conviction to those who would judge his deed. He
should convict himself. He should witness against himself. He was a
sleep-worker. I had met with many similar cases before, all of which
tended to prove that sleep by no means deadens the faculties of labour.
It is indisputable that the hands will follow the inclinations of the
brains of somnambulists. They will act as they think--perform what they
dream. If Colensoe would only work out his terrible night dreams!

My conduct towards him at the breakfast table and throughout the day was
just the same as ever. It was far from a comfortable feeling, however,
to pass the wine to one who had taken another's life, and to offer an
after-dinner cigar to a murderer. The day passed. I slept during the
afternoon, for I was tired with my over-night watching, and could I but
put my inward plans into execution, it was more than probable that I
should be awake for many nights to come. I told my wife that Colensoe
was a somnambulist, and that he worked at the canvas equally as well
whilst sleeping as waking. I impressed upon her the absolute necessity
of silence on the subject, as I firmly believed that I was on the brink
of a great discovery. Seeing that I was a medical man, her curiosity was
in no way aroused. Indeed, she thought me foolish to give up my night's
rest.

That night, after Colensoe had gone to bed, I went into his studio. My