Then I thought I heard an impatient movement and muttering somewhere behind me. The speaker, after another long and painful pause, had just said, "I hope I've made that clear, gentlemen"; and I was almost certain that the muffled growl had taken the shape of the words "You don't know a damned thing about it!" Then, a few minutes later, the sound was repeated, this time accompanied by an unmistakable groan. "Sssh!" said somebody sharply from the front or second row. The lecture dragged on. But about the next and final outbreak there was no doubt whatever. Neither was there about the sharp suffering of whoever was the cause of it. Somebody a couple of rows behind me must be ill, I thought, and evidently others thought so too, for the lecturer came definitely to a stop, and my eyes, now accustomed to the gloom, saw the turning of faces. "Is anybody----?" a secretary or chairman called out, and I expected the light to go up at any moment. In the end, however, the lecture was finished without further incident. The lights were switched on, the dingy classic painted panels on the walls could be seen, and instantly every face, my own included, was turned towards the back of a man who was seen to be hurriedly making his way to the door. I cannot tell you what happened at the Society of Arts after that. I was already on my feet, hurrying after that back. It was the same back I had seen, in the same haste, leaving the Lyonnesse Club less than two hours ago. He had got to the entrance hall before I caught him up. He accepted with rather disturbing docility the arm I slipped into his. All the fight had gone out of him; he might not have been the same man who had so recently tried to outface me about first novels. I looked at his face as we stood by the glass doors that opened on to John Street. It showed both fear and pain. "What's the matter, Derry? Can I be of any help?" I asked him anxiously. He muttered, "Yes--yes--about time I called somebody in--just about enough of it----" "Do you want a doctor? Shall we call at a chemist's?" He stared at me for a moment; then I vow he almost laughed. "A doctor? No thanks. One dose a day's quite enough." "One dose of what?" "Words," he replied, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the lecture chamber. We passed out and into John Street, he accommodating his ordinary London-to-Brighton pace to mine. He once told me that five miles an hour was walking, six stepping out a bit, and anything over six and a half really "going." "Which way?" I asked at the end of the street. "I suppose you'd better come round to my place," he replied; and we crossed the Strand and struck north past Trafalgar Square.