I sprang out of bed and rushed to the wash-hand stand, and, whether by kicking, or falling over upon them, or pushing with bound hands or with elbow, I contrived, somehow, before Strong realised my intention, to send the jug and basin crashing upon the floor with a noise, I suppose, that would have awakened an army of men a mile away. At the same moment I lost consciousness, and therefore for the events of the next few minutes I am indebted to second-hand information.
This is, I understand, what happened.
Jack is a lightish sleeper. He was dreaming, he says, of a cricket match in which he once took part at "Lords," playing for his school against the M.C.C. in the great annual function held, as a rule, on the first two days of the holidays. Jack was batting, it appears, to Strong's bowling. Dream-bowling is sometimes very difficult to play by dream-batsmen. It depends very much upon whether the batsman has dined judiciously or the reverse. Jack had assisted at a banquet, as has been shown; and Strong's bowling was giving him a lot of trouble. Strong had sent down four balls, of which the slowest, Jack declared, could have given points to a flash of buttered lightning. One of them killed the wicket-keeper; and another, being a wide, lamed short-slip for life; no one knew what became of the other two balls, they were never caught sight of at all. Then Strong sent down the fifth, and Jack—though he saw nothing of it—slogged at it for all he was worth. The wicket-keeper, it seems, just before he died, had assured Jack that Clutterbuck's treasure would be lost to us for ever, and that Strong was to be declared the legitimate proprietor of the same, by special rule just passed by the committee of the M.C.C., unless he contrived to make four runs in this over. So that it was absolutely necessary, Jack explained, to hit this fifth ball to the boundary.
By some fluke Jack caught the ball full; he did not see it; he admits having shut his eyes; Strong's face was more than he could stand up to. He lashed out at it blindly, and sent it flying, at the rate of a million miles an hour, over Strong's head, straight for the pavilion seats.
That marvellous fellow, Strong—the dream-Strong—rushed after it, and careered so fast (at the rate, in fact, of a million and one miles per hour) that he was just able to leap into the air at the very pavilion rail and touch the ball.
He could not hold it, however, and, losing his balance—owing to the great pace at which he had travelled—he flew head over heels clean through the glass windows of the pavilion, and alighted upon the luncheon-table, which fell with a frightful crash.
This crash was my little contribution to Jack's dream; it was the overthrow of my jug and basin, and the tumult of it roused Jack in an instant. He sprang from his bed, wide awake, and seeing that a light burned in my room, and hearing—as he thought—some sound there, pushed the door open and entered, full of wonder and some alarm.
He was just in time to see a figure disappearing out of the door, and without stopping to help me—indeed, he declares that he didn't notice me lying there in the corner!—sprang away after the man at the door, believing that it was I, and that I had gone suddenly and mysteriously mad.
Things went propitiously. Several people rushed into my room, wakened and startled by the crash of china and the sound of feet scudding down the passage; and one of them speedily removed the bandage from my mouth and the cord from my wrists. I think this saved my life. Indeed, I was already half dead, and even when released I did not for some minutes recover consciousness.
Meanwhile, Jack had scudded after Strong without knowing whom he pursued.