ce I
had smoked my last cigarette--a cigarette handed me by the inspector
in that stuffy little room below the dock, where I was waiting to be
sentenced to death.

If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget my sensations as I
struck the match which my host handed me and took in that first
fragrant mouthful. It was so delicious that for a moment I remained
motionless from sheer pleasure; then lying back again in my chair with
a little gasp I drew another great cloud of smoke deep down into my
lungs.

The doctor waited, watching me with a kind of cynical amusement.

"Don't hurry yourself, Mr. Lyndon," he observed, "pray don't hurry
yourself. It is a pleasure to witness such appreciation."

I took him at his word, and for perhaps a couple of minutes we sat
there in silence while the blue wreaths of smoke slowly mounted
and circled round us. Then at last, with a delightful feeling of
half-drugged contentment, I sat up and began my story.

I told it him quite simply--making no attempt to conceal or exaggerate
anything. I described how the idea of making a bolt had come suddenly
into my mind, and how I had acted on it without reflection or
hesitation. Step by step I went quietly through my adventures, from
the time when the fog had rolled down to the moment when, half
fainting with hunger and exhaustion, I had climbed in through his
kitchen window.

Leaning on the arm of his chair, he listened to me in silence. As far
as any movement or change of expression was concerned a statue could
scarcely have betrayed less interest, but all the time the steady
gleam of his eyes never shifted from my face.

When I had finished he remained there for several seconds in the same
attitude. Then at last he gave a short mirthless laugh.

"It must be pleasant to be as strong as you are," he said. "I should
have been dead long ago."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, I don't exactly feel like going to a
dance," I answered.

He got up and walked slowly as far as the window, where he turned
round and stood staring at me thoughtfully. At last he appeared to
make up his mind.

"You had better go to bed," he said, "and we will talk things over in
the morning. You are not fit for anything more tonight."

"No, I'm not," I admitted frankly; "but before I go to bed I should
like to feel a little more certain where I'm going to wake up."

There was a faint sound outside and I saw him raise his head. It was
the distant but unmistakable