'There are four locks to the case, one at each side. This key opens them all. The locks are of very peculiar construction; as, also, is the key. I will now proceed to unlock the case.' He did unlock it. Four men came forward, lifted the case--it seemed as much as they could do--and, with considerable difficulty, because of the crowd, bore it from the room. Mr. Montagu Babbacombe remained uncovered. It was then ten. The fact was announced by a clock in the building; and Mr. FitzHoward stood with his watch in his hand. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Montagu Babbacombe will now awake.' The doctors, if they were doctors, pressed forward. We all craned our necks. It seemed inconceivable that after a slumber of thirty days--and one so very much like death--the man could wake to an appointed minute. But he did. Scarcely had Mr. FitzHoward ceased to speak than, with the most natural air in the world, raising his hand, he passed it over his face, as one is sometimes apt to do when awaking. He opened his eyes. He sat up. To be greeted by a storm of cheers. Which, however, presently died away, as it was realised that there was that in his appearance which was hardly in harmony with such a demonstration. He gazed about him with, on his pallid features, a look of dazed inquiry; as if he wondered where he was. Mr. FitzHoward spoke to him. 'I'm glad to see you, Mr. Babbacombe. I hope you're comfortable, sir. Here is Mr. Manager.' The manager extended his hand. 'Feeling rested after your sound sleep?' Mr. Babbacombe apparently did not notice the held-out hand. He answered in a curious monotone, still about him that air of vacancy. The sound of his voice set me all of a twitter. 'Rested?--Oh, yes, I'm rested.--Rested!' Mr. FitzHoward motioned to the spectators. 'All these ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Babbacombe, are here to see you put the crown and summit on the most marvellous feat of modern times. They're here to see you wake, sir.' 'Wake?--To see me wake?' A voice cried out from the crowd:-- 'Have you been troubled by any bad dreams, sir?' There was a tendency to titter; which was subdued when it was seen how the inquiry was taken. 'Dreams!--My dear life!--Dreams!' There was something in the awakened sleeper's tone which was not altogether agreeable. It was too suggestive of things on which one did not care to dwell. He addressed FitzHoward. 'Give me something to eat. I want something to eat.' He sounded as if he did; and looked it too. Putting his hand up to his head with the gesture of a tired child, he sank back upon the mattress. 'I want to rest,' he said. We were still. He looked as if he had fallen asleep again, for good. Mr. FitzHoward dismissed the audience. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have much pleasure in thanking you, on Mr. Montagu Babbacombe's behalf, for your attendance here, and I now wish you goodnight.'