Part 32 (2/2)

Before he had finished his eggs and bacon this recognition became acute.

The fear of losing his own personality had vanished utterly; all that haunting dread was gone. If he could escape now, so he told himself, he would go right back to the States. He had eight thousand pounds in the National Provincial Bank; no one knew that it was there. He could seize it with a clear conscience and take it to Philadelphia. The shadow of Rochester--oh, that was a thing gone forever, dissipated by this actual fact of lost liberty--so he told himself.

A servant brought up the _Times_ and he opened it, and lit a cigarette.

Then as he looked casually over the news and the doings of the day, an extraordinary feeling came upon him; all this printed matter was relative to the doings and ideas of free men, men who could walk down the street, if the fancy pleased them. It was like looking at the world through bars. He got up and paced the floor, the breakfast things had been removed, and the attendant had left the room and was in the bed-room adjoining.

Jones walked softly to the door through which the servant had carried away the things, and opened it gently and without noise. A corridor lay outside, and he was just entering it when a voice from behind made him turn.

”Do you require anything, sir?”

It was the attendant.

”Nothing,” said Jones. ”I was just looking to see where this place led to.” He came back into the room.

He knew now that every movement of his was watched, and he accepted the fact without comment. He sat down and took up the _Times_ whilst the attendant went back to the bed-room.

He had said to himself on awaking, that a sane man, held as insane, could always win free just by his sanity. He was taking up the line of reasoning now and casting about him for a method.

He was not long in finding one. The brilliancy of the idea that had all at once struck him made him cast the paper from his knees to the floor.

Then, having smoked a cigarette and consolidated his plan, he called the attendant.

”I want to see the gentleman who runs this place.”

”Dr. Hoover, sir?”

”Yes.”

”Certainly, sir, I will ring and have him sent for.”

He rang the bell, a servant answered and went off with the message.

Jones took up the paper again and resumed his cigarette. Five minutes pa.s.sed and then the door opened and a gentleman entered.

A pleasant faced, clean-shaven man of fifty, dressed in blue serge and with a rose in his b.u.t.ton-hole, such was Doctor Hoover. But the eye of the man held him apart from others; a blue grey eye, keen, sharp, hard, for all the smile upon the pleasant face.

Jones rose up.

”Dr. Hoover, I think,” said he.

”Good morning,” said the other in a hearty voice. ”Fine day, isn't it?

Well, how are we this morning?”

”Oh, I'm all right,” said Jones. ”I want to have a little talk with you.” He went to the bed-room door, which was slightly ajar, and closed it.

”For your sake,” said Jones, ”it's just as well we have no one listening, the attendant is in there--you are sure he cannot hear what we say, even with the door shut?”

<script>