The ground was a puddle. The walls were blank. He felt with his feet, seeking a dry spot to lie down. Everywhere his boot sank into a puddle. He cursed and moved on a pace. He felt again with his feet. Still more puddles. He moved along still farther and tried again. No use. Then he began to walk along mechanically, feeling the ground at intervals. Then he kept walking slowly without feeling the ground. He had forgotten about lying down. He came to the end of the lane and saw a wide street in front of him. He halted excitedly. “Where am I going?” he cried aloud. He started at the sound of his voice and peered suspiciously over his shoulder. Of course there was nobody there. Then he steadied himself and tried to think of where he was and what had happened. It was a terrific struggle. Slowly he began to remember recent events. Fact after fact came prowling into his brain. Soon the whole series of events stood piled there in a crazy heap. Everything rushed towards that heap with increasing rapidity, but nothing could be abstracted from it. It was just as if the facts were sinking in a puddle and disappearing. It was utterly impossible for him to reason out a plan of action. “I must make a plan,” he murmured aloud. In answer to this exhortation came a vision of Gallagher’s glittering eyes. They fascinated him. He forgot about a plan. A horde of things crashed together in his brain making an infernal buzz. He lost control of himself and ran about under the archway, striking out with his hands and feet madly, trying to fight the cargo of things that were jammed together in his brain. It was that insensate rage that overcomes strong men at times, when they have nothing upon which to vent their fury, no physical opponent. He worked madly at this curious exercise for fully five minutes. Then he stopped, with perspiration streaming from his forehead. He felt better. His head was clear. He was again conscious of a grim determination to escape, to outwit those fellows who were on the Bridge. An idea that he thought amazingly cunning occurred to him, an idea to escape towards the south, by making a wide detour towards the north, up by the North Circular Road to Phœnix Park, then westwards through the Park, then southwards again by Dolphin’s Barn. He was toying with the route pleasantly when he was suddenly interrupted by a sound of feet.