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Then as far as was possible, in the dim light in the kitchen, he

looked over his overcoat, his trousers and his boots. At the

first glance there seemed to be nothing but stains on the boots.

He wetted the rag and rubbed the boots. But he knew he was not

looking thoroughly, that there might be something quite

noticeable that he was overlooking. He stood in the middle of the

room, lost in thought. Dark agonising ideas rose in his mind--the

idea that he was mad and that at that moment he was incapable of

reasoning, of protecting himself, that he ought perhaps to be

doing something utterly different from what he was now doing.

"Good God!" he muttered, "I must fly, fly," and he rushed into

the entry. But here a shock of terror awaited him such as he had

never known before.