There the narrative found upon Mr. Elvesham's desk ends. His dead body lay between the desk and the chair. The latter had been pushed back, probably by his last convulsions. The story was written in pencil, and in a crazy hand, quite unlike his usual minute characters. There remain only two curious facts to record. Indisputably there was some connection between Eden and Elvesham, since the whole of Elvesham's property was bequeathed to the young man. But he never inherited. When Elvesham committed suicide, Eden was, strangely enough, already dead. Twenty-four hours before, he had been knocked down by a cab and killed instantly, at the crowded crossing at the intersection of Gower Street and Euston Road. So that the only human being who could have thrown light upon this fantastic narrative is beyond the reach of questions. Without further comment I leave this extraordinary matter to the reader's individual judgment. IN THE ABYSS The lieutenant stood in front of the steel sphere and gnawed a piece of pine splinter. "What do you think of it, Steevens?" he asked. "It's an idea," said Steevens, in the tone of one who keeps an open mind. "I believe it will smash--flat," said the lieutenant. "He seems to have calculated it all out pretty well," said Steevens, still impartial. "But think of the pressure," said the lieutenant. "At the surface of the water it's fourteen pounds to the inch, thirty feet down it's double that; sixty, treble; ninety, four times; nine hundred, forty times; five thousand, three hundred--that's a mile--it's two hundred and forty times fourteen pounds; that's--let's see--thirty hundredweight--a ton and a half, Steevens; _a ton and a half_ to the square inch. And the ocean where he's going is five miles deep. That's seven and a half"-- "Sounds a lot," said Steevens, "but it's jolly thick steel."