I saw the man's eyes gradually dilate, and his body rise, as though some unseen hydraulic machinery were slowly and evenly elevating it.
"Why, there's the blue! There's the white!" he gasped.
"Go on!" I cried. "Go on!"
"And those are the two hills covered with snow! That's it! I see it! I see it, now! That's the book John Lockwood was going through when I handed him the letter!"
"What letter?" I insisted.
"Carlton's letter," he proclaimed.
"Then where is it?" I asked, sick at heart. I looked from Criswell to the girl in the gold cloak as she crossed the room to the book-shelf and stooped over the space from which I had so feverishly snatched the Blue Book. I saw her brush the dust from her fingertips, stoop lower, and again reach in between the shelves. Then I looked back at Criswell, for I could hear his voice rise almost to a scream.
"I remember! I see it now! And he's got to remember! He's got to remember!"
I shook my head, hopelessly, as he flung himself down in the chair, sobbing out that foolish cry, over and over again.
"Yes, he's got to remember," I could hear Mary Lockwood say as she turned and faced us.