Locking and bolting the door, I drew some paper from a drawer and commenced writing. How long I wrote I do not know, but I did not stop until I had penned a fairly comprehensive precis of what I had seen and heard. Why I did this I cannot tell; I only know that I was driven to it by some force which, to me, was inexplicable. This done, I signed the paper, giving the hour and date when I had written it.
I heard Simpson turning in his bed in the little room close by.
"Simpson," I said, going to him, "are you awake?" He yawned drowsily.
"Simpson, are you awake?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir," he said, starting up. "Is anything the matter, sir? Are you well?"
"Quite well, Simpson."
"Is it time to get up, sir?"
"I—I—what time it is I don't know, Simpson, but it is not time to get up."
He looked at me like one afraid.
"Can I do anything for you, sir?"