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  THE STORY OF THE LATE MR. ELVESHAM

  I set this story down, not expecting it will be believed, but, ifpossible, to prepare a way of escape for the next victim. He, perhaps,may profit by my misfortune. My own case, I know, is hopeless, and I amnow in some measure prepared to meet my fate.

  My name is Edward George Eden. I was born at Trentham, in Staffordshire,my father being employed in the gardens there. I lost my mother whenI was three years old, and my father when I was five, my uncle,George Eden, then adopting me as his own son. He was a single man,self-educated, and well-known in Birmingham as an enterprisingjournalist; he educated me generously, fired my ambition to succeedin the world, and at his death, which happened four years ago, leftme his entire fortune, a matter of about five hundred pounds afterall outgoing charges were paid. I was then eighteen. He advised mein his will to expend the money in completing my education. I hadalready chosen the profession of medicine, and through his posthumousgenerosity, and my good fortune in a scholarship competition, I becamea medical student at University College, London. At the time of thebeginning of my story I lodged at 11A University Street, in a littleupper room, very shabbily furnished, and draughty, overlooking the backof Shoolbred's premises. I used this little room both to live in andsleep in, because I was anxious to eke out my means to the very lastshillingsworth.

  I was taking a pair of shoes to be mended at a shop in the TottenhamCourt Road when I first encountered the little old man with the yellowface, with whom my life has now become so inextricably entangled. Hewas standing on the kerb, and staring at the number on the door ina doubtful way, as I opened it. His eyes--they were dull grey eyes,and reddish under the rims--fell to my face, and his countenanceimmediately assumed an expression of corrugated amiability.

  "You come," he said, "apt to the moment. I had forgotten the number ofyour house. How do you do, Mr. Eden?"

  I was a little astonished at his familiar address, for I had never seteyes on the man before. I was a little annoyed, too, at his catching mewith my boots under my arm. He noticed my lack of cordiality.

  "Wonder who the deuce I am, eh? A friend, let me assure you. I haveseen you before, though you haven't seen me. Is there anywhere where Ican talk to you?"

  I hesitated. The shabbiness of my room upstairs was not a matter forevery stranger. "Perhaps," said I, "we might walk down the street. I'munfortunately prevented"--My gesture explained the sentence before Ihad spoken it.

  "The very thing," he said, and faced this way and then that. "Thestreet? Which way shall we go?" I slipped my boots down in the passage."Look here!" he said abruptly; "this business of mine is a rigmarole.Come and lunch with me, Mr. Eden. I'm an old man, a very old man, andnot good at explanations, and what with my piping voice and the clatterof the traffic"--

  He laid a persuasive skinny hand that trembled a little upon my arm.

  I was not so old that an old man might not treat me to a lunch. Yet atthe same time I was not altogether pleased by this abrupt invitation."I had rather"--I began. "But _I_ had rather," he said, catching meup, "and a certain civility is surely due to my grey hairs." And so Iconsented, and went with him.

  He took me to Blavitski's; I had to walk slowly to accommodate myselfto his paces; and over such a lunch as I had never tasted before,he fended off my leading questions, and I took a better note of hisappearance. His clean-shaven face was lean and wrinkled, his shrivelledlips fell over a set of false teeth, and his white hair was thin andrather long; he seemed small to me,--though, indeed, most people seemedsmall to me,--and his shoulders were rounded and bent. And watchinghim, I could not help but observe that he too was taking note of me,running his eyes, with a curious touch of greed in them, over me, frommy broad shoulders to my sun-tanned hands, and up to my freckled faceagain. "And now," said he, as we lit our cigarettes, "I must tell youof the business in hand.

  "I must tell you, then, that I am an old man, a very old man." Hepaused momentarily. "And it happens that I have money that I mustpresently be leaving, and never a child have I to leave it to." Ithought of the confidence trick, and resolved I would be on the alertfor the vestiges of my five hundred pounds. He proceeded to enlarge onhis loneliness, and the trouble he had to find a proper dispositionof his money. "I have weighed this plan and that plan, charities,institutions, and scholarships, and libraries, and I have come to thisconclusion at last,"--he fixed his eyes on my face,--"that I will findsome young fellow, ambitious, pure-minded, and poor, healthy in bodyand healthy in mind, and, in short, make him my heir, give him allthat I have." He repeated, "Give him all that I have. So that he willsuddenly be lifted out of all the trouble and struggle in which hissympathies have been educated, to freedom and influence."

  I tried to seem disinterested. With a transparent hypocrisy, I said,"And you want my help, my professional services, maybe, to find thatperson."

  He smiled, and looked at me over his cigarette, and I laughed at hisquiet exposure of my modest pretence.

  "What a career such a man might have!" he said. "It fills me with envyto think how I have accumulated that another man may spend--

  "But there are conditions, of course, burdens to be imposed. He must,for instance, take my name. You cannot expect everything without somereturn. And I must go into all the circumstances of his life before Ican accept him. He _must_ be sound. I must know his heredity, how hisparents and grandparents died, have the strictest inquiries made intohis private morals"--

  This modified my secret congratulations a little. "And do I understand,"said I, "that I--?"

  "Yes," he said, almost fiercely. "You. _You._"

  I answered never a word. My imagination was dancing wildly, my innatescepticism was useless to modify its transports. There was not aparticle of gratitude in my mind--I did not know what to say nor how tosay it. "But why me in particular?" I said at last.

  He had chanced to hear of me from Professor Haslar, he said, as atypically sound and sane young man, and he wished, as far as possible,to leave his money where health and integrity were assured.

  That was my first meeting with the little old man. He was mysteriousabout himself; he would not give his name yet, he said, and after I hadanswered some questions of his, he left me at the Blavitski portal.I noticed that he drew a handful of gold coins from his pocket whenit came to paying for the lunch. His insistence upon bodily healthwas curious. In accordance with an arrangement we had made I appliedthat day for a life policy in the Loyal Insurance Company for a largesum, and I was exhaustively overhauled by the medical advisers of thatcompany in the subsequent week. Even that did not satisfy him, and heinsisted I must be re-examined by the great Doctor Henderson. It wasFriday in Whitsun week before he came to a decision. He called medown, quite late in the evening,--nearly nine it was,--from crammingchemical equations for my Preliminary Scientific examination. He wasstanding in the passage under the feeble gas-lamp, and his face was agrotesque interplay of shadows. He seemed more bowed than when I hadfirst seen him, and his cheeks had sunk in a little.

  His voice shook with emotion. "Everything is satisfactory, Mr. Eden,"he said. "Everything is quite, quite satisfactory. And this night ofall nights, you must dine with me and celebrate your--accession." Hewas interrupted by a cough. "You won't have long to wait, either," hesaid, wiping his handkerchief across his lips, and gripping my handwith his long bony claw that was disengaged. "Certainly not very longto wait."

  We went into the street and called a cab. I remember every incident ofthat drive vividly, the swift, easy motion, the vivid contrast of gasand oil and electric light, the crowds of people in the streets, theplace in Regent Street to which we went, and the sumptuous dinner wewere served with there. I was disconcerted at first by the well-dressedwaiter's glances at my rough clothes, bothered by the stones of theolives, but as the champagne warmed my blood, my confidence revived. Atfirst the old man talked of himself. He had already told me his name inthe cab; he was Egbert Elvesham, the great philosopher, whose name Ihad known since I was a lad at school. It
seemed incredible to me thatthis man, whose intelligence had so early dominated mine, this greatabstraction, should suddenly realise itself as this decrepit, familiarfigure. I daresay every young fellow who has suddenly fallen amongcelebrities has felt something of my disappointment. He told me now ofthe future that the feeble streams of his life would presently leavedry for me, houses, copyrights, investments; I had never suspected thatphilosophers were so rich. He watched me drink and eat with a touch ofenvy. "What a capacity for living you have!" he said; and then, with asigh, a sigh of relief I could have thought it, "It will not be long."

  "Ay," said I, my head swimming now with champagne; "I have a futureperhaps--of a passing agreeable sort, thanks to you. I shall now havethe honour of your name. But you have a past. Such a past as is worthall my future."

  He shook his head and smiled, as I thought, with half-sad appreciationof my flattering admiration. "That future," he said, "would youin truth change it?" The waiter came with liqueurs. "You will notperhaps mind taking my name, taking my position, but would youindeed--willingly--take my years?"

  "With your achievements," said I gallantly.

  He smiled again. "Kummel--both," he said to the waiter, and turnedhis attention to a little paper packet he had taken from his pocket."This hour," said he, "this after-dinner hour is the hour of smallthings. Here is a scrap of my unpublished wisdom." He opened the packetwith his shaking yellow fingers, and showed a little pinkish powderon the paper. "This," said he--"well, you must guess what it is. ButKummel--put but a dash of this powder in it--is Himmel." His largegreyish eyes watched mine with an inscrutable expression.

  It was a bit of a shock to me to find this great teacher gave his mindto the flavour of liqueurs. However, I feigned a great interest in hisweakness, for I was drunk enough for such small sycophancy.

  He parted the powder between the little glasses, and, rising suddenly,with a strange unexpected dignity, held out his hand towards me. Iimitated his action, and the glasses rang. "To a quick succession,"said he, and raised his glass towards his lips.

  "Not that," I said hastily. "Not that."

  He paused, with the liqueur at the level of his chin, and his eyesblazing into mine.

  "To a long life," said I.

  He hesitated. "To a long life," said he, with a sudden bark oflaughter, and with eyes fixed on one another we tilted the littleglasses. His eyes looked straight into mine, and as I drained the stuffoff, I felt a curiously intense sensation. The first touch of it set mybrain in a furious tumult; I seemed to feel an actual physical stirringin my skull, and a seething humming filled my ears. I did not noticethe flavour in my mouth, the aroma that filled my throat; I saw onlythe grey intensity of his gaze that burnt into mine. The draught, themental confusion, the noise and stirring in my head, seemed to last aninterminable time. Curious vague impressions of half-forgotten thingsdanced and vanished on the edge of my consciousness. At last he brokethe spell. With a sudden explosive sigh he put down his glass.

  "Well?" he said.

  "It's glorious," said I, though I had not tasted the stuff.

  My head was spinning. I sat down. My brain was chaos. Then myperception grew clear and minute as though I saw things in a concavemirror. His manner seemed to have changed into something nervous andhasty. He pulled out his watch and grimaced at it. "Eleven-seven! Andto-night I must--Seven--twenty-five. Waterloo! I must go at once." Hecalled for the bill, and struggled with his coat. Officious waiterscame to our assistance. In another moment I was wishing him good-bye,over the apron of a cab, and still with an absurd feeling of minutedistinctness, as though--how can I express it?--I not only saw but_felt_ through an inverted opera-glass.

  "That stuff," he said. He put his hand to his forehead. "I ought notto have given it to you. It will make your head split to-morrow.Wait a minute. Here." He handed me out a little flat thing like aseidlitz-powder. "Take that in water as you are going to bed. The otherthing was a drug. Not till you're ready to go to bed, mind. It willclear your head. That's all. One more shake--Futurus!"

  I gripped his shrivelled claw. "Good-bye," he said, and by the droop ofhis eyelids I judged he too was a little under the influence of thatbrain-twisting cordial.

  He recollected something else with a start, felt in his breast-pocket,and produced another packet, this time a cylinder the size and shape ofa shaving-stick. "Here," said he. "I'd almost forgotten. Don't openthis until I come to-morrow--but take it now."

  It was so heavy that I well-nigh dropped it. "All ri'!" said I, and hegrinned at me through the cab window as the cabman flicked his horseinto wakefulness. It was a white packet he had given me, with red sealsat either end and along its edge. "If this isn't money," said I, "it'splatinum or lead."

  I stuck it with elaborate care into my pocket, and with a whirlingbrain walked home through the Regent Street loiterers and the darkback streets beyond Portland Road. I remember the sensations of thatwalk very vividly, strange as they were. I was still so far myselfthat I could notice my strange mental state, and wonder whether thisstuff I had had was opium--a drug beyond my experience. It is hard nowto describe the peculiarity of my mental strangeness--mental doublingvaguely expresses it. As I was walking up Regent Street I found in mymind a queer persuasion that it was Waterloo station, and had an oddimpulse to get into the Polytechnic as a man might get into a train. Iput a knuckle in my eye, and it was Regent Street. How can I expressit? You see a skilful actor looking quietly at you, he pulls a grimace,and lo!--another person. Is it too extravagant if I tell you that itseemed to me as if Regent Street had, for the moment, done that? Then,being persuaded it was Regent Street again, I was oddly muddled aboutsome fantastic reminiscences that cropped up. "Thirty years ago,"thought I, "it was here that I quarrelled with my brother." Then Iburst out laughing, to the astonishment and encouragement of a group ofnight prowlers. Thirty years ago I did not exist, and never in my lifehad I boasted a brother. The stuff was surely liquid folly, for thepoignant regret for that lost brother still clung to me. Along PortlandRoad the madness took another turn. I began to recall vanished shops,and to compare the street with what it used to be. Confused, troubledthinking is comprehensible enough after the drink I had taken, but whatpuzzled me were these curiously vivid phantasm memories that had creptinto my mind, and not only the memories that had crept in, but alsothe memories that had slipped out. I stopped opposite Stevens', thenatural history dealer's, and cudgelled my brains to think what he hadto do with me. A 'bus went by, and sounded exactly like the rumblingof a train. I seemed to be dipped into some dark, remote pit for therecollection. "Of course," said I, at last, "he has promised me threefrogs to-morrow. Odd I should have forgotten."

  Do they still show children dissolving views? In those I remember oneview would begin like a faint ghost, and grow and oust another. Injust that way it seemed to me that a ghostly set of new sensations wasstruggling with those of my ordinary self.

  I went on through Euston Road to Tottenham Court Road, puzzled, and alittle frightened, and scarcely noticed the unusual way I was taking,for commonly I used to cut through the intervening network of backstreets. I turned into University Street, to discover that I hadforgotten my number. Only by a strong effort did I recall 11A, andeven then it seemed to me that it was a thing some forgotten personhad told me. I tried to steady my mind by recalling the incidents ofthe dinner, and for the life of me I could conjure up no picture ofmy host's face; I saw him only as a shadowy outline, as one might seeoneself reflected in a window through which one was looking. In hisplace, however, I had a curious exterior vision of myself sitting at atable, flushed, bright-eyed, and talkative.

  "I must take this other powder," said I. "This is getting impossible."

  I tried the wrong side of the hall for my candle and the matches, andhad a doubt of which landing my room might be on. "I'm drunk," I said,"that's certain," and blundered needlessly on the staircase to sustainthe proposition.

  At the first glance my room seemed unfamiliar. "What rot!" I said, andsta
red about me. I seemed to bring myself back by the effort, and theodd phantasmal quality passed into the concrete familiar. There was theold glass still, with my notes on the albumens stuck in the corner ofthe frame, my old everyday suit of clothes pitched about the floor. Andyet it was not so real after all. I felt an idiotic persuasion tryingto creep into my mind, as it were, that I was in a railway carriage ina train just stopping, that I was peering out of the window at someunknown station. I gripped the bed-rail firmly to reassure myself."It's clairvoyance, perhaps," I said. "I must write to the PsychicalResearch Society."

  I put the rouleau on my dressing-table, sat on my bed and began totake off my boots. It was as if the picture of my present sensationswas painted over some other picture that was trying to show through."Curse it!" said I; "my wits are going, or am I in two places at once?"Half-undressed, I tossed the powder into a glass and drank it off. Iteffervesced, and became a fluorescent amber colour. Before I was in bedmy mind was already tranquillised. I felt the pillow at my cheek, andthereupon I must have fallen asleep.

  * * * * *

  I awoke abruptly out of a dream of strange beasts, and found myselflying on my back. Probably everyone knows that dismal, emotional dreamfrom which one escapes, awake indeed, but strangely cowed. There wasa curious taste in my mouth, a tired feeling in my limbs, a sense ofcutaneous discomfort. I lay with my head motionless on my pillow,expecting that my feeling of strangeness and terror would probablypass away, and that I should then doze off again to sleep. But insteadof that, my uncanny sensations increased. At first I could perceivenothing wrong about me. There was a faint light in the room, so faintthat it was the very next thing to darkness, and the furniture stoodout in it as vague blots of absolute darkness. I stared with my eyesjust over the bedclothes.

  It came into my mind that someone had entered the room to rob me of myrouleau of money, but after lying for some moments, breathing regularlyto simulate sleep, I realised this was mere fancy. Nevertheless, theuneasy assurance of something wrong kept fast hold of me. With aneffort I raised my head from the pillow, and peered about me at thedark. What it was I could not conceive. I looked at the dim shapesaround me, the greater and lesser darknesses that indicated curtains,table, fireplace, bookshelves, and so forth. Then I began to perceivesomething unfamiliar in the forms of the darkness. Had the bed turnedround? Yonder should be the bookshelves, and something shrouded andpallid rose there, something that would not answer to the bookshelves,however I looked at it. It was far too big to be my shirt thrown on achair.

  Overcoming a childish terror, I threw back the bedclothes and thrust myleg out of bed. Instead of coming out of my truckle-bed upon the floor,I found my foot scarcely reached the edge of the mattress. I madeanother step, as it were, and sat up on the edge of the bed. By theside of my bed should be the candle, and the matches upon the brokenchair. I put out my hand and touched--nothing. I waved my hand in thedarkness, and it came against some heavy hanging, soft and thick intexture, which gave a rustling noise at my touch. I grasped this andpulled it; it appeared to be a curtain suspended over the head of mybed.

  I was now thoroughly awake, and beginning to realise that I wasin a strange room. I was puzzled. I tried to recall the overnightcircumstances, and I found them now, curiously enough, vivid in mymemory: the supper, my reception of the little packages, my wonderwhether I was intoxicated, my slow undressing, the coolness to myflushed face of my pillow. I felt a sudden distrust. Was that lastnight, or the night before? At anyrate, this room was strange tome, and I could not imagine how I had got into it. The dim, pallidoutline was growing paler, and I perceived it was a window, with thedark shape of an oval toilet-glass against the weak intimation of thedawn that filtered through the blind. I stood up, and was surprisedby a curious feeling of weakness and unsteadiness. With tremblinghands outstretched, I walked slowly towards the window, getting,nevertheless, a bruise on the knee from a chair by the way. I fumbledround the glass, which was large, with handsome brass sconces, to findthe blind-cord. I could not find any. By chance I took hold of thetassel, and with the click of a spring the blind ran up.

  I found myself looking out upon a scene that was altogether strangeto me. The night was overcast, and through the flocculent grey ofthe heaped clouds there filtered a faint half-light of dawn. Just atthe edge of the sky, the cloud-canopy had a blood-red rim. Below,everything was dark and indistinct, dim hills in the distance, a vaguemass of buildings running up into pinnacles, trees like spilt ink, andbelow the window a tracery of black bushes and pale grey paths. It wasso unfamiliar that for the moment I thought myself still dreaming. Ifelt the toilet-table; it appeared to be made of some polished wood,and was rather elaborately furnished--there were little cut-glassbottles and a brush upon it. There was also a queer little object,horse-shoe-shaped it felt, with smooth, hard projections, lying in asaucer. I could find no matches nor candlestick.

  I turned my eyes to the room again. Now the blind was up, faintspectres of its furnishing came out of the darkness. There was a hugecurtained bed, and the fireplace at its foot had a large white mantelwith something of the shimmer of marble.

  I leant against the toilet-table, shut my eyes and opened them again,and tried to think. The whole thing was far too real for dreaming. Iwas inclined to imagine there was still some hiatus in my memory, as aconsequence of my draught of that strange liqueur; that I had come intomy inheritance perhaps, and suddenly lost my recollection of everythingsince my good fortune had been announced. Perhaps if I waited a little,things would be clearer to me again. Yet my dinner with old Elveshamwas now singularly vivid and recent. The champagne, the observantwaiters, the powder, and the liqueurs--I could have staked my soul itall happened a few hours ago.

  And then occurred a thing so trivial and yet so terrible to me that Ishiver now to think of that moment. I spoke aloud. I said, "How thedevil did I get here?" ... _And the voice was not my own._

  It was not my own, it was thin, the articulation was slurred, theresonance of my facial bones was different. Then, to reassure myselfI ran one hand over the other, and felt loose folds of skin, thebony laxity of age. "Surely," I said, in that horrible voice thathad somehow established itself in my throat, "surely this thing is adream!" Almost as quickly as if I did it involuntarily, I thrust myfingers into my mouth. My teeth had gone. My finger-tips ran on theflaccid surface of an even row of shrivelled gums. I was sick withdismay and disgust.

  I felt then a passionate desire to see myself, to realise at once inits full horror the ghastly change that had come upon me. I tottered tothe mantel, and felt along it for matches. As I did so, a barking coughsprang up in my throat, and I clutched the thick flannel nightdress Ifound about me. There were no matches there, and I suddenly realisedthat my extremities were cold. Sniffing and coughing, whimpering alittle, perhaps, I fumbled back to bed. "It is surely a dream," Iwhimpered to myself as I clambered back, "surely a dream." It was asenile repetition. I pulled the bedclothes over my shoulders, over myears, I thrust my withered hand under the pillow, and determined tocompose myself to sleep. Of course it was a dream. In the morning thedream would be over, and I should wake up strong and vigorous again tomy youth and studies. I shut my eyes, breathed regularly, and, findingmyself wakeful, began to count slowly through the powers of three.

  But the thing I desired would not come. I could not get to sleep.And the persuasion of the inexorable reality of the change that hadhappened to me grew steadily. Presently I found myself with my eyeswide open, the powers of three forgotten, and my skinny fingers uponmy shrivelled gums. I was, indeed, suddenly and abruptly, an old man.I had in some unaccountable manner fallen through my life and come toold age, in some way I had been cheated of all the best of my life, oflove, of struggle, of strength, and hope. I grovelled into the pillowand tried to persuade myself that such hallucination was possible.Imperceptibly, steadily, the dawn grew clearer.

  At last, despairing of further sleep, I sat up in bed and lookedabout me. A chill twilight
rendered the whole chamber visible. Itwas spacious and well-furnished, better furnished than any room Ihad ever slept in before. A candle and matches became dimly visibleupon a little pedestal in a recess. I threw back the bedclothes,and, shivering with the rawness of the early morning, albeit it wassummer-time, I got out and lit the candle. Then, trembling horribly,so that the extinguisher rattled on its spike, I tottered to the glassand saw--_Elvesham's face!_ It was none the less horrible because Ihad already dimly feared as much. He had already seemed physicallyweak and pitiful to me, but seen now, dressed only in a coarse flannelnightdress that fell apart and showed the stringy neck, seen now asmy own body, I cannot describe its desolate decrepitude. The hollowcheeks, the straggling tail of dirty grey hair, the rheumy blearedeyes, the quivering, shrivelled lips, the lower displaying a gleam ofthe pink interior lining, and those horrible dark gums showing. Youwho are mind and body together, at your natural years, cannot imaginewhat this fiendish imprisonment meant to me. To be young and full ofthe desire and energy of youth, and to be caught, and presently to becrushed in this tottering ruin of a body....

  But I wander from the course of my story. For some time I must havebeen stunned at this change that had come upon me. It was daylight whenI did so far gather myself together as to think. In some inexplicableway I had been changed, though how, short of magic, the thing had beendone, I could not say. And as I thought, the diabolical ingenuity ofElvesham came home to me. It seemed plain to me that as I found myselfin his, so he must be in possession of _my_ body, of my strength, thatis, and my future. But how to prove it? Then, as I thought, the thingbecame so incredible, even to me, that my mind reeled, and I had topinch myself, to feel my toothless gums, to see myself in the glass,and touch the things about me, before I could steady myself to face thefacts again. Was all life hallucination? Was I indeed Elvesham, and heme? Had I been dreaming of Eden overnight? Was there any Eden? But ifI was Elvesham, I should remember where I was on the previous morning,the name of the town in which I lived, what happened before the dreambegan. I struggled with my thoughts. I recalled the queer doubleness ofmy memories overnight. But now my mind was clear. Not the ghost of anymemories but those proper to Eden could I raise.

  "This way lies insanity!" I cried in my piping voice. I staggered to myfeet, dragged my feeble, heavy limbs to the washhand-stand, and plungedmy grey head into a basin of cold water. Then, towelling myself, Itried again. It was no good. I felt beyond all question that I wasindeed Eden, not Elvesham. But Eden in Elvesham's body!

  Had I been a man of any other age, I might have given myself up to myfate as one enchanted. But in these sceptical days miracles do not passcurrent. Here was some trick of psychology. What a drug and a steadystare could do, a drug and a steady stare, or some similar treatment,could surely undo. Men have lost their memories before. But to exchangememories as one does umbrellas! I laughed. Alas! not a healthy laugh,but a wheezing, senile titter. I could have fancied old Elveshamlaughing at my plight, and a gust of petulant anger, unusual to me,swept across my feelings. I began dressing eagerly in the clothes Ifound lying about on the floor, and only realised when I was dressedthat it was an evening suit I had assumed. I opened the wardrobeand found some more ordinary clothes, a pair of plaid trousers, andan old-fashioned dressing-gown. I put a venerable smoking-cap on myvenerable head, and, coughing a little from my exertions, tottered outupon the landing.

  It was then, perhaps, a quarter to six, and the blinds were closelydrawn and the house quite silent. The landing was a spacious one, abroad, richly-carpeted staircase went down into the darkness of thehall below, and before me a door ajar showed me a writing-desk, arevolving bookcase, the back of a study chair, and a fine array ofbound books, shelf upon shelf.

  "My study," I mumbled, and walked across the landing. Then at the soundof my voice a thought struck me, and I went back to the bedroom and putin the set of false teeth. They slipped in with the ease of old habit."That's better," said I, gnashing them, and so returned to the study.

  The drawers of the writing-desk were locked. Its revolving top was alsolocked. I could see no indications of the keys, and there were none inthe pockets of my trousers. I shuffled back at once to the bedroom,and went through the dress suit, and afterwards the pockets of all thegarments I could find. I was very eager, and one might have imaginedthat burglars had been at work, to see my room when I had done. Notonly were there no keys to be found, but not a coin, nor a scrap ofpaper--save only the receipted bill of the overnight dinner.

  A curious weariness asserted itself. I sat down and stared at thegarments flung here and there, their pockets turned inside out. Myfirst frenzy had already flickered out. Every moment I was beginningto realise the immense intelligence of the plans of my enemy, to seemore and more clearly the hopelessness of my position. With an effort Irose and hurried hobbling into the study again. On the staircase was ahousemaid pulling up the blinds. She stared, I think, at the expressionof my face. I shut the door of the study behind me, and, seizing apoker, began an attack upon the desk. That is how they found me. Thecover of the desk was split, the lock smashed, the letters torn out ofthe pigeon-holes and tossed about the room. In my senile rage I hadflung about the pens and other such light stationery, and overturnedthe ink. Moreover, a large vase upon the mantel had got broken--I donot know how. I could find no cheque-book, no money, no indications ofthe slightest use for the recovery of my body. I was battering madly atthe drawers, when the butler, backed by two women-servants, intrudedupon me.

  * * * * *

  That simply is the story of my change. No one will believe my franticassertions. I am treated as one demented, and even at this moment Iam under restraint. But I am sane, absolutely sane, and to prove it Ihave sat down to write this story minutely as the things happened tome. I appeal to the reader, whether there is any trace of insanity inthe style or method of the story he has been reading. I am a young manlocked away in an old man's body. But the clear fact is incredible toeveryone. Naturally I appear demented to those who will not believethis, naturally I do not know the names of my secretaries, of thedoctors who come to see me, of my servants and neighbours, of thistown (wherever it is) where I find myself. Naturally I lose myself inmy own house, and suffer inconveniences of every sort. Naturally I askthe oddest questions. Naturally I weep and cry out, and have paroxysmsof despair. I have no money and no cheque-book. The bank will notrecognise my signature, for I suppose that, allowing for the feeblemuscles I now have, my handwriting is still Eden's. These people aboutme will not let me go to the bank personally. It seems, indeed, thatthere is no bank in this town, and that I have an account in some partof London. It seems that Elvesham kept the name of his solicitor secretfrom all his household--I can ascertain nothing. Elvesham was, ofcourse, a profound student of mental science, and all my declarationsof the facts of the case merely confirm the theory that my insanityis the outcome of overmuch brooding upon psychology. Dreams of thepersonal identity indeed! Two days ago I was a healthy youngster,with all life before me; now I am a furious old man, unkempt, anddesperate, and miserable, prowling about a great luxurious strangehouse, watched, feared, and avoided as a lunatic by everyone about me.And in London is Elvesham beginning life again in a vigorous body, andwith all the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of threescore and ten. Hehas stolen my life.

  What has happened I do not clearly know. In the study are volumesof manuscript notes referring chiefly to the psychology of memory,and parts of what may be either calculations or ciphers in symbolsabsolutely strange to me. In some passages there are indications thathe was also occupied with the philosophy of mathematics. I take it hehas transferred the whole of his memories, the accumulation that makesup his personality, from this old withered brain of his to mine, and,similarly, that he has transferred mine to his discarded tenement.Practically, that is, he has changed bodies. But how such a changemay be possible is without the range of my philosophy. I have been amaterialist for all my thinking life, but here, suddenly
, is a clearcase of man's detachability from matter.

  One desperate experiment I am about to try. I sit writing herebefore putting the matter to issue. This morning, with the help of atable-knife that I had secreted at breakfast, I succeeded in breakingopen a fairly obvious secret drawer in this wrecked writing-desk. Idiscovered nothing save a little green glass phial containing a whitepowder. Round the neck of the phial was a label, and thereon waswritten this one word, "_Release_." This may be--is most probably,poison. I can understand Elvesham placing poison in my way, and Ishould be sure that it was his intention so to get rid of the onlyliving witness against him, were it not for this careful concealment.The man has practically solved the problem of immortality. Save for thespite of chance, he will live in my body until it has aged, and then,again, throwing that aside, he will assume some other victim's youthand strength. When one remembers his heartlessness, it is terrible tothink of the ever-growing experience, that.... How long has he beenleaping from body to body?... But I tire of writing. The powder appearsto be soluble in water. The taste is not unpleasant.

  * * * * *

  There the narrative found upon Mr. Elvesham's desk ends. His dead bodylay between the desk and the chair. The latter had been pushed back,probably by his last convulsions. The story was written in pencil,and in a crazy hand, quite unlike his usual minute characters. Thereremain only two curious facts to record. Indisputably there was someconnection between Eden and Elvesham, since the whole of Elvesham'sproperty was bequeathed to the young man. But he never inherited. WhenElvesham committed suicide, Eden was, strangely enough, already dead.Twenty-four hours before, he had been knocked down by a cab and killedinstantly, at the crowded crossing at the intersection of Gower Streetand Euston Road. So that the only human being who could have thrownlight upon this fantastic narrative is beyond the reach of questions.Without further comment I leave this extraordinary matter to thereader's individual judgment.