"Campbell," he said, when she had gone, "do you know who that man was?"
"No," said I, "he was a lodger in the house. I know no more than that, but I can find out if you like."
"I don't mean that," he said; "that man's face was the face that had peered at me round the door for more than a year; the face I had told you about, the face I had grown to fear as I never feared anything in my life before; and yet that man has saved my life. It was good, not evil, that the vision meant, Campbell—good, not evil, and it was nearly driving me mad. Go back to that house; you can leave me safely, I am happier and better than I ever was before. I thought the thing was evil, and I find it to be good."
I left him repeating these words over and over again, told his wife, and hurried back to my rooms. Then, having procured the money, I drove to the doctor's house. I settled with the two little men in the sitting-room, and then asked if I might see the body.
"It is upstairs," they said. "We will arrange everything; he is of the Religion. But you may see him."
I went upstairs, and there on a bed in a tiny room lay the body of my late antagonist, wrapped in a sheet. The face was exposed, and I examined it with interest. It was deathly pale and somewhat fallen away, the thick, curving nose standing forward prominently. On the left temple and on the forehead was a terrible bruise, caused, I suppose, by the edge of the table on which the lamp had stood. Certainly the face tallied marvellously with Barton's description of his visionary visitor. I went back to my rooms and tried to puzzle the thing out, but I can't say that I succeeded. The connection that seemed to exist between the dead man and Mrs. Barton only complicated matters instead of simplifying them.
Robinson and I are still staying on here, but the Bartons left yesterday, Barton having recovered in a perfectly marvellous manner. I've written a very long letter, old boy, but as you seem excited by the remarks I let fall in my last epistle to you about the subject, I thought I had better give you the full details. I'm afraid I must ask you not to repeat the story—you will yourself see the reasons against so doing. I don't know if you will be able to form any theory about it—I shall be glad to hear it if you can. Hoping to get a letter from you soon, and that you are quite fit,
I am
Your loving brother,