three generations of
the family of which I was the only living representative in the direct
line. It was a large, ancient wooden mansion, very elegant in an
old-fashioned way within, but situated in a quarter that had long
since become undesirable for residence, from its invasion by tenement
houses and manufactories. It was not a house to which I could think of
bringing a bride, much less so dainty a one as Edith Bartlett. I had
advertised it for sale, and meanwhile merely used it for sleeping
purposes, dining at my club. One servant, a faithful colored man by
the name of Sawyer, lived with me and attended to my few wants. One
feature of the house I expected to miss greatly when I should leave
it, and this was the sleeping chamber which I had built under the
foundations. I could not have slept in the city at all, with its never
ceasing nightly noises, if I had been obliged to use an upstairs
chamber. But to this subterranean room no murmur from the upper world
ever penetrated. When I had entered it and closed the door, I was
surrounded by the silence of the tomb. In order to prevent the
dampness of the subsoil from penetrating the chamber, the walls had
been laid in hydraulic cement and were very thick, and the floor was
likewise protected. In order that the room might serve also as a vault
equally proof against violence and flames, for the storage of
valuables, I had roofed it with stone slabs hermetically sealed, and
the outer door was of iron with a thick coating of asbestos. A small
pipe, communicating with a wind-mill on the top of the house, insured
the renewal of air.

It might seem that the tenant of such a chamber ought to be able to
command slumber, but it was rare that I slept well, even there, two
nights in succession. So accustomed was I to wakefulness that I minded
little the loss of one night's rest. A second night, however, spent in
my reading chair instead of my bed, tired me out, and I never allowed
myself to go longer than that without slumber, from fear of nervous
disorder. From this statement it will be inferred that I had at my
command some artificial means for inducing sleep in the last resort,
and so in fact I had. If after two sleepless nights I found myself on
the approach of the third without sensations of drowsiness, I called
in Dr. Pillsbury.

He was a doctor by courtesy only, what was called in those days an
"irregular" or "quack" doctor. He called himself a "Professor of
Animal Magnetis