‘Sheet of paper and all?’
‘Apparently,—though on that point I could not be positive. You will understand that my study table is apt to be littered with sheets of paper, and I could not absolutely determine that the thing had not stared at me from one of those. The delineation itself, to use your word, certainly had vanished.’
I began to suspect that this was a case rather for a doctor than for a man of my profession. And hinted as much.
‘Don’t you think it is possible, Mr Lessingham, that you have been overworking yourself—that you have been driving your brain too hard, and that you have been the victim of an optical delusion?’
‘I thought so myself; I may say that I almost hoped so. But wait till I have finished. You will find that there is no loophole in that direction.’
He appeared to be recalling events in their due order. His manner was studiously cold,—as if he were endeavouring, despite the strangeness of his story, to impress me with the literal accuracy of each syllable he uttered.
‘The night before last, on returning home, I found in my study a stranger.’
‘A stranger?’
‘Yes.—In other words, a burglar.’
‘A burglar?—I see.—Go on.’