McTaggart lay in bed, his eyes half-closed, watching the gray light spread from under the blind. His head ached and he felt unusually tired and heavy, bound down to his pillow by invisible chains.
From the sitting-room beyond came the clatter of plates, boards creaking in the wake of his housekeeper's step, and through the open window stole a muffled steady hum—the day-song of the London streets. A door banged loudly, and blessed silence followed. He drew the bed-clothes tighter under his chin. But now sleep had fled and into his brain thoughts rushed swiftly as though against his will; a baffling succession of events and surmises, throwing up pictures before his closed eyes.
He reached out a hand in search of his watch and found that the hour was close upon ten. A vast dissatisfaction s
