“This evening,” she began, “between five and six o’clock I suddenly developed a dreadful headache. It was so bad that I just had to go to my room and lie down. I went to sleep straight off. And then--then I had a--a dream--only,” she interposed quickly, to hold their interest, “it wasn’t like an ordinary dream. It was so vivid that I felt all the time it _meant_ something. I dreamed that someone or something that I could feel was sort of loving and kind and earnest--_very_ earnest, I could feel that strongly--took me into a room. And, somehow, I knew that the room was in Berlin. It seemed quite a nice room but I don’t remember much about the details of it. I only remember that I saw myself there with two men, one young and dark, the other old and white, who were staring at a girl sleeping in a big armchair. They took not the faintest notice of me, and I didn’t worry much about them. The girl was the interesting thing to all of us--and yet, though I was staring at her with a sort of fascination I couldn’t shake off, I didn’t know why. Then a strange thing happened. The girl kind of faded away--I don’t know how to describe it, because I felt all the time she was still there--and as she faded, there came up the figure of a man. He seemed to grow out of her--to take her place. It was real uncanny. This man that grew out of the girl like a--like a ghost--was somehow more _living_ than any of us. It was as if he were in the limelight and we were in the shadow. I shall never forget his face. It was handsome but _wicked_--mocking--malicious--like a devil. And he had an ugly scar over the right eyebrow which made him look even more devilish----” “What colour was his hair?” interposed Captain Sergeantson. “Any moustache?” The girl looked at him in surprise at the question. “Fair--sticking up straight. No moustache--why?” Captain Sergeantson nodded. “I only wondered. Go on, Miss Forsdyke.” The girl resumed. “Well--it seemed that we were all looking at this man and not the girl at all. She had disappeared behind him, or into him, I don’t know which. The other two men were talking to him--talking earnestly. And it seemed to me that it was extremely--oh, _immensely_--important that I should understand what they were saying. I listened with all my soul. It almost hurt me to listen as hard as I did--And yet I couldn’t get a word of it. What they said was, somehow, just out of reach--like people you see talking on the bioscope. And then, all of a sudden, I heard--one sentence--as clearly as possible, ‘_Forsdyke is the man who prepares the schedule!_’” Jimmy Lomax uttered a sharp cry of amazement. “What!” He turned to Forsdyke. “Chief, that’s strange!” Forsdyke imposed silence with a gesture. “Go on, Hetty,” he said, calmly. “What then?”