"Yes," the stranger owned, "but I don't know that there wasn't something more extraordinary still. From time to time the girl in the stateroom kept piping up, with a shriek for help. She had got past the burglar stage, but she wanted to be saved, anyhow, from some danger which she didn't specify. It went through me that it was very strange nobody called the porter, and I set up a shout of 'Porter!' on my own account. I decided that if there were burglars the porter was the man to put them out, and that if there were no burglars the porter could relieve our groundless fears. Sure enough, he came rushing in, as soon as I called for him, from the little corner by the smoking-room where he was blacking boots between dozes. He was wide enough awake, if having his eyes open meant that, and he had a shoe on one hand and a shoe-brush in the other. But he merely joined in the general up-roar and shouted for the police." "Excuse me," Wanhope interposed. "I wish to be clear as to the facts. You had reasoned it out that the porter could quiet the tumult?" "Never reasoned anything out so clearly in my life." "But what was your theory of the situation? That your friend, Mr. Melford, had a nightmare in which he was dreaming of burglars?" "I hadn't a doubt of it." "And that by a species of dream-transference the nightmare was communicated to the young lady in the stateroom?" "Well--yes." "And that her call for help and her cry of burglars acted as a sort of hypnotic suggestion with the other sleepers, and they began to be afflicted with the same nightmare?" "I don't know that I ever put it to myself so distinctly, but it appears to me now that I must have reached some such conclusion." "That is very interesting, very interesting indeed. I beg your pardon. Please go on," Wanhope courteously entreated. "I don't remember just where I was," the stranger faltered. Rulledge returned with an accuracy which obliged us all: "'The porter merely joined in the general uproar and shouted for the police.'"