"Not that it matters. In humanity, I should like to be the one who is shut up here. It would not, I think, trouble me much. My friend Drake has a disadvantage that will always beat him."
"Meaning what?"
"Your imagination, my dear fellow. You will see nothing, hear nothing; but you will feel. It is only when you imagine you see them crawling up from the gallows trap — men-eating tigers like Hessler and Bourke-Smith and pretty Mrs. Langton — that the brain will crack like a china jug." He turned round. "Have you got the folder of matches, Ruth?" "I have them," said Ruth. "I wish I hadn't" "Turn your back. Tear out one match, and tear off another much shorter. Give us the heads to choose. The short match is the loser."
Suddenly Dr. Laurier threw back his head and laughed, like a clergyman at a funeral. "This is most amusing'" he said. This is really extraordinarily amusing."
Stannard bowed slightly.
"Have you got reading-matter, my dear fellow?" he asked Martin briskly, and produced from his conjuror's coat a pocket edition of the plays of Chekhov. "Come! Let's compare reading-matter!"
Martin took out a pocket edition of stories.
"What's this?" fussed Stannard. '"The Beach at Falisa. Markheim. Thrawn Janet. The Sire de — " His bright black eyes grew, incredulously chiding, then gently chiding. "Come, now! Stevenson!"
"If you," Martin said slowly, "are one of the clod-heads who don't appreciate Stevenson, then' nobody can make you see his fineness of touch. But did you note the title of the first story? It's called A Lodging for the Night."
Stannard handed the book back.. Touché," he said.