ious braiding
and buttons, fascinated me. I counted the number of separate things that
made up my complete attire. They were twenty-four in number. I
discovered that in addition to these articles of actual wearing material
I was in the habit of carrying on my person about sixty other articles.
For some reason I found these calculations very interesting. I had a
kind of counting mania that morning. I counted all the things I used in
dressing myself. I counted the number of stripes on my trousers and on
my wall-paper; I counted the number of rooms in my house, the articles
of furniture that they contained, and the number of electric lamps. I
went into the kitchen and counted everything I could see, to the
astonishment of my servants. I observed that my cook showed a faint blue
stain in her eyes, but that the other servants showed no signs as yet of
the Blue Disease. I went into my study and counted the books; I opened
one of them. It was the British Pharmacopoeia. I began mechanically to
count the number of drugs it contained. I was still counting them when
the breakfast gong sounded. I went across the hall and counted on my way
the number of sticks and hats and coats that were there. I finished up
by counting the number of things on the breakfast table. Then I picked
up the newspaper. There were, by the way, one hundred and four distinct
things on my breakfast table.

The paper was full of the records of crime and of our names.

The account of the Prime Minister's statement in the House was given in
full. Our names were printed in large letters, and apparently our
qualifications had been looked up, for they were mentioned, together
with a little biographical sketch. In a perfectly calm and observant
spirit I read the closely-printed column. My eye paused for some time at
an account of my personal appearance--"a small, insignificant-looking
man, with straight blue-black hair, like a Japanese doll, and an untidy
moustache, speaking very deliberately and with a manner of extreme
self-assurance."

Extreme self-assurance! I reflected that there might, after all, be some
truth in what the reporter said. On the night that I had spoken at the
Queen's Hall meeting I had been quite self-possessed. I pursued the
narrative and smiled slightly at a description of the Russian--"a
loosely-built, bearded giant, unkempt in appearance, and with huge
square hands and pale Mongolian eyes which roll like those of a maniac."
That was certa