“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, of course that may have preyed on my nerves a bit. Anyhow, I went upstairs to my room, and found my pipe chocked up—you know.”
“Yes, it’s funny the way they do get chocked up.”
“So I went along to Reeves’ room to bag one of his pipe-cleaners. It was dark and he wasn’t in, so I turned on the light. And there, right in front of me, I saw old Brotherhood’s oak stick—the one he used to carry with him. I remember, when he preached on the village green. I remember his quoting Johnson’s refutation of Berkeley—you know the thing—and banging that stick on the ground. That was the stick I saw.”
“In Reeves’ room?”
“Yes, by the side of his arm-chair. And—I didn’t exactly see anything, you know, only it looked exactly as if Brotherhood himself were sitting in the chair, invisible, with his hand resting on the stick. I was just telling myself I was a fool, when—he breathed.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know. There was nobody in the room—nobody visible, I mean. That was too much for me, I’m afraid. I went to my room and locked myself in. You see, I’m psychic, rather. Always have been, from a kid.”
“And was that all your trouble?”
“No. I had half thought about seeing a man about it while I was up in London anyhow. And then, just as I was starting for the train, that beastly metaphone thing in my room whistled. So I went and said ‘Who’s speaking?’—and—I may be an awful fool, you know, but I thought the thing said ‘It’s Brotherhood.’ And at that I fairly dropped the tube and raced for the train. Then in London I went to see this fool of a specialist, and of course he told me I’d been overdoing it.”