"Feeling quite all right—what? Here, drink some of this. It's only water. A drop more? Right!"
Mr. Newman pushed the glass away and sat upright, staring wide-eyed into the curious face of Carrick, who bent over him, tumbler in hand.
"All right?" asked Carrick again.
"Yes—now," replied Mr. Newman slowly. "But—what did you do to me,
Carrick?"
Carrick gave a relieved snort and set the tumbler down on the mantelshelf.
"What did I do?" he repeated. "Opened a door for you—that's all.
What did you find the other side?"
Mr. Newman passed an uncertain hand across his eyes. The feeling with which he had returned to consciousness, that liberties had been taken with him, was leaving him as the familiar ugly room grew about him again.
"It was queer," he said doubtfully, and Carrick bent his head in eagerness to listen.
"You've been hypnotised before, often enough. What was queer?"
"Hypnotism is unconsciousness, so far as I'm concerned," said Mr. Newman. "But this—wasn't! Not dreams, either; the thing was so absolutely real."