II.
DEFOE awoke with a shudder.
There was a moment or two, as is always the case when one arouses from heavy, dream-burdened slumber, during which Defoe could not tell where his dream ended and realities began. He blinked experimentally into the smouldering fire in the open grate before him; yes, he was conscious. For further verification of this he drew forth his watch and noted the hour. The glow from the fire was scarcely sufficient for reading the dial and Defoe leaned forward the better to see. He was still too drowsy even to reach around and turn on the electric lamp on the table behind him.
Still he was not certain whether he was yet dreaming, until—
“Don’t budge, Defoe! I’ve got you covered!”
The Voice was close to his left ear. Its commanding acerbity quelled Defoe’s impulse to spring to his feet; and as he gripped the arms of the chair tensely he managed to challenge his unseen intruder:
“Who are you? What do you want here?”
The Voice moved a little upward and back before it answered:
“You’ve just had a nasty dream, Defoe. Perhaps I—”
“How do you know I did!” interrupted Defoe.