i awoke in the grey light of dawn, stiff with cold and aching in every limb. arising, i left my hiding-place and went into the vestibule. the night porter sat on a stool in his little office toasting his toes before the stove and reading one of the morning papers. i stepped up to the door at once. hearing my footsteps, he looked around. "good-morning, michael," i said, as well as my chattering teeth would let me. "do you want all that fire?" i had forgotten that i was completely invisible. the fellow sprang to his feet with a start and stared at me aghast. "what's the matter with you?" i demanded, testily.

"'ere—you keep off. i've done nothing to 'arm you!" he whined, and he backed before my advance against the wall of the office, the very picture of abject terror. his appearance recalled me to my senses. but it was too late to cry over spilt milk. i thought it better to make a confidant of the man if he would let me.

"don't be frightened, michael; there is no need. i'm not a ghost, feel my hands!" i said.

but panic seized the fellow. he uttered a wild[pg 306] shriek and fled for his life into the passage. i could hardly help laughing, but i saw a chance in the contretemps to end my immediate difficulty—so i went straight to the desk, and fortunately found it open. in hubbard's pigeon-hole was the key i wanted. i took it out, caught up a times and hurried up the stairs. in another moment i was safe in hubbard's room with the door locked against intrusion. my first care was to set the asbestos ablaze and warm myself. then i opened the paper and found at once the news i sought under great cross headlines in the main sheet. miss ottley's house had been completely gutted by fire. some of the walls still stood, but with the exception of a few pictures, the whole of the valuable art furniture and the late sir robert ottley's splendid collection of egyptian coins, manuscripts and curios had been destroyed. it was supposed that dr. belleville had perished in the flames, but no sign of his remains had been discovered. the fire, as far as it was possible to ascertain, had arisen from an accident due to the unsuccessful conduct of a chemical experiment. it was well known in scientific circles, said the journal, that the doctor had been engaged in a series of experiments, the object of which had been kept a close secret, but a city firm of manufacturing chemists had recently supplied him with large quantities of a certain highly inflammable liquid compound possessing radio activities which had been prepared at [pg 307]enormous cost, under his directions. the manager of the firm, on being interviewed, stated that in his opinion, this compound was principally responsible for the tragic disaster. there was always a danger in handling it of spontaneous combustion, it appeared, and if it once took fire, by no means could it be extinguished except by the shutting off of all supplies of oxygen. failing this, it would burn to the last with the most explosive energy. according to miss ottley's statement, when first interrogated by an officer from scotland yard, she had been in the laboratory with dr. belleville at the time of the catastrophe. she had lately been very ill and it seems she had fainted. it was extremely probable that the doctor, in his anxiety to revive her, had neglected his usual caution and had done some careless thing which had led to his destruction. probably he had been killed outright by the first explosion. it was, however, a matter of general relief that miss ottley had managed to escape, and that there had been no further sacrifice of life. everyone would sympathise with the unfortunate young lady in her sad position. only a few weeks ago the gallant young officer to whom she had been engaged to be married, had come to an untimely end in a railway accident on the very eve of his wedding day. then, a little later, the dark angel had deprived her of a loving and beloved father, the great millionaire arch?ologist, whose recent operations on 'change had startled the[pg 308] world, and made of him the richest man in the united kingdom. and now, she had lost by death the kind and learned guardian to whom her late father had entrusted her future and the management of her enormous fortune. nobody would be surprised to learn that this great accumulation of calamities had reduced the fate-stricken young lady to a state of utter physical prostration. she had been taken yesterday evening, after her rescue from the burning mansion, to the albert hospital, but she had subsequently been removed to the walsingham hotel, where the management had placed a suite of rooms at her disposal. she was there being treated under the care of drs. fiaschi and mason, the well-known heart and nerve specialists. these gentlemen express themselves hopeful of her ultimate recovery, but they do not conceal the fact that she is at present in a very low condition, and it is significant that the road in front of the hotel was, in the small hours of the morning, thickly overspread with tan.

this last paragraph, as may easily be conceived, filled me with anxiety. i resolved to go at once to the walsingham hotel and find out exactly how she was for myself. but, fortunately, in moving towards the door to put my purpose into execution, i had to pass the mirror-backed door of a clothes press. i did not pass it then. i stopped, spellbound. i was no longer invisible. that is to say, my face and hands were not—although my body[pg 309] was. the mirror showed me a head floating apparently in mid-air and a pair of hands hanging mysteriously from nothing. my eyes were curiously goggled with a thin, gelatinous-like film, with a glassy surface that was bound about my head. this i tore off forthwith and curiously examined. it was actually composed of gelatine. tossing it aside, i ran my fingers over my clothing and discovered, from the sense of touch, that i was clad to the neck in one unbroken combination suit of rubber overalls, which included footgear. i soon made out the secret of its fastening, and tearing it open, i stepped forth into the light of day and perfect visibility, to find that i still had on all the clothes i had worn when dr. belleville trapped me, except my boots. the overalls, however, remained visible, or rather partially so, for their inner surface viewed from the opening was discernible. i put them carefully aside for future investigation and proceeded to make a toilet. my first care was a hot bath. the hall porter, whom i had frightened so desperately a little while before, answered my ring. he was astounded to see me, but i did not choose to make him any explanations, and he was too overcome to ask me for any. a little later i was luxuriating in a steaming bath, which removed the last vestige of my parisian disguise. most of the paint, however, had worn off before, so it was the easier to become myself again. but not quite my old, familiar self. my experiences[pg 310] had permanently aged me. there were lines upon my face that i was stranger to, and with which i made reluctant acquaintance. and my hair was liberally streaked with grey. i had put on ten years, at least. i felt old, too, that was the worst of it—old, ill and thick-blooded and infinitely world-weary. i felt a hunger for the desert and big open spaces; a need to hasten from the grinding, selfish life of cities, with their secret crimes and gilded vices and dull-herded groping after sordid happiness. but i did not wish to go alone. at a little after eight o'clock i entered the walsingham and demanded to see miss ottley's head nurse. she was at breakfast, but the waiter told me that miss ottley had spent a good night and was still asleep, so i was content to wait. afterwards, i had to lie to the nurse in order to be permitted to see the invalid. i told her that i was miss ottley's nearest living relative, and i suppressed the fact of my medical qualifications. the woman, otherwise, would have referred me to the physicians, who had employed her, and i should have been put off for hours. as it was, it required all my powers of persuasion to induce her to admit me to the sick room. but i prevailed on her at last, with a show of stern authority, and a curt intimation that her position depended on my complaisance. the falsehood is not one that i feel any shame at, for i knew what an effect my appearance would make in the patient, and i was determined, at all[pg 311] costs, to be with her at the moment of her waking. i shall pass over the preliminary period that i spent beside her bed. it is too full of sorrow to recall with anything but misery. the poor girl was as frail and wan as any spirit. they had cut off all her glorious hair, and the hand i kissed, which lay so weakly on the coverlid, was whiter than a snowflake, and almost as destitute of vigour. she slept as gently as a weary babe, and it was hard at first to believe thoroughly she lived. but at length she sighed and her great eyes slowly opened and looked up questioningly into mine. she thought that she was dead and that my ghost had sought her out. "hugh!" she whispered, and a soft smile lighted her face and made it infinitely lovely, though so wan. "i knew that i should find you, dear," she sighed. "and so i could not help but pray to die. will god punish us for that?"

but i kissed her on the lips—the first long kiss of love that i had known—or she—and she came back warm with quickened hope and will to live within my arms. and all was well with us.

there is little more to tell. as soon as she was strong again we married quietly, and now we live in a place where crowded cities are unknown—far from old england's shores. i never again saw belleville's arab servant, who so marvellously resembled the old high priest of amen-ra; nor his companion, the nubian, uromi. they disappeared after the fire, and not all the efforts of the police[pg 312] could trace their hiding-place. the invisible suit of overalls is still in my possession—but it had lost its old mysterious properties, and although i expended months of patient labour to explore its secret, it was all in vain. to this day i cannot tell who released me from the chair in which belleville had bound me in the murderer's laboratory. and i am still unable to explain the many other little mysteries that so involved us in the period of our contention with the wretch, the fatal termination of whose wicked scheming i have set forth in these pages. the greater part of sir robert ottley's fortune has been given to the poor. the rest we settled on my wife's sole living blood relation, the old bed-ridden aunt, whom she has never seen. we both felt that we should be doing well to dispose of riches that—to an extent, at least—must have been acquired by arts of sinister significance. still, we have never wanted, and we are not likely to. my profession yields us a comfortable living in these grand but sparsely settled wilds. and, although we sometimes think regretfully upon the delight we once experienced in searching out the lettered past of long-dead centuries, we have other interests now to fill our lives and banish vain regrets. we have our growing children to attend to and provide for. we are of real service to the people who surround us, for my wife is the schoolmistress of the district, and i am the only surgeon[pg 313] in a radius of one hundred miles. then, we have our books and our long evenings together in the splendid twilight of the endless plains. we have given up the past for the future. and we are happy in our labour and our love.