weight, the author of "The Amateur Detective" at
first seemed nonplussed; but quickly changed his expression to one of
abrupt intelligence.

"I see, now; I begin to see," he answered, slowly, and almost in a
whisper. "On the night of that Christmas dinner here, you were in a
clove-trance, and made some secret disposition, (which you have not
since been able to remember,) of your umbrella--and nephew. Until very
lately--until now, when you are nearly, but _not quite_, as much under
the influence of cloves again--you have had a vague general idea that
somebody else must have killed Mr. DROOD and stolen your umbrella. But
now, that you are partially in the same condition, physiologically and
psychologically, as on the night of the disappearance, you have once
more a partial perception of what were the facts of the case. Am I
right?"

"That's it, sir. You're a ph'los'pher," murmured Mr. BUMSTEAD, trying to
brush from above his nose the pendent lock of hair, which he took for a
fly.

"Very well, then," continued TRACEY CLEWS, his extraordinary head of
hair fairly bristling with electrical animation: "You've only to get
yourself into _exactly the same_ clove-y condition as on the night of
the double disappearance, when you put your umbrella and nephew away
somewhere, and you'll remember all about it again. You have two distinct
states of existence, you see: a cloven one, and an uncloven one; and
what you have done in one you are totally oblivious of in the other."

Something like an occult wink trembled for a moment in the right eye of
Mr. BUMSTEAD.

"Tha's ver' true," said he, thoughtfully. "I've been 'blivious m'self,
frequently. Never c'd r'member wharIowed."

"The idea I've suggested to you for the solution of this mystery," went
on Mr. CLEWS, "Is expressed by one of the greatest of English writers;
who, in his very last work, says; '--in some cases of drunkenness, and
in others of animal magnetism, there are two states of consciousness
which never clash, but each of which pursues its separate course as
though it were continuous instead of broken. Thus, if I hide my watch
when I am drunk, I must be drunk again before I can remember where.'[2]"

"I'm norradrink'n'man, sir," returned Mr. BUMSTEAD, drawing coldly back
from him, and escaping a fall into the fireplace by a dexterous surge
into the nearest chair. "Th' lemon tea which I take for my cold, or to
pr'vent the cloves from disagreeing with me, is norrintoxicat