“Oh, but they will,” I retorted. I felt that they deserved that much. Why hadn’t they gone themselves, instead of passing on the risk to others? “The police are most painstaking in these matters, especially when one of their own number is concerned. You mustn’t forget that Templeton was a retired inspector. Why not divert their minds to the cellar?--a few bricks out of place, and a little soil, and just a trace of quicklime. They’d never miss that.... They’ll dig for a week.” I saw that the Professor thought my levity was ill-timed. There was nothing new in that. But Bryant gave a fresh turn to the discussion. “You say that Brett isn’t dead? Suppose he comes back while the investigation’s proceeding?” We looked at one another in consternation. In the condition in which I had seen him last he would be an awkward fact to explain to the official mind. I imagined the sarcasm of the prosecuting counsel as I told my tale in the witness-box. Doubtless, the dock would follow. The Professor was the only one who was unmoved by the suggestion. “He cannot return now. Were he doing so, he would have been back before to-night.” “I have no doubt he is dead,” I added, “I think they had nearly finished him when I saw him.” “Yes,” said the Professor, “he will die during the year.” He was the only one of us who was not confused in his tenses. He thought a moment, and then turned to me seriously. “I regret the capillary singularity of which you complain, but you will admit that you did not go without warning. I am about to ask you a further favour. I want you to write a careful narrative of your experiences, making it as accurate as is possible to your journalistic mind. For this narrative, if it be written promptly and clearly, I will give you £2000. I shall publish it,--as fiction, if necessary,--and may recover the money. “Afterwards, I hope that, in the interests of science, rather than for any prospective pecuniary advantage, you will consent to explore this strange world somewhat further. You have shown considerable adroitness in avoiding its dangers, and you will have a great advantage over a less experienced adventurer.” He looked for my reply with a very real anxiety, and I answered slowly. “I will write the book willingly, but as to going again,--well, I wouldn’t do it alone. Perhaps, if Clara would come with me....” “_Clara!_” exclaimed the Professor. “Yes,” I said, “she might.... I know her better than you do.... I’ll think it over.” And so, here is the book. It isn’t all I saw or heard, and it leaves much unexplained. How can a year of such experiences be clearly told, or crowded into a single volume? But I have tried to be accurate. As to adventuring once again,--well, it depends on Clara. I’ll ask her now.