Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (259 page)

"But
you
said
you
forgot
where
you
lived."

"I
know;
but
there's
the
difficulty
of
expression
we
were
talking about
the
other
day.
I
am
looking
for
the
notation,
as
you
called
it. But
it
was
like
this:
I
had
been
working
all
the
morning
in
the Reading
Room
with
the
motor
danger
at
the
back
of
my
mind,
and as
I
left
the
Museum,
feeling
a
sort
of
heaviness
and
confusion,
I made
up
my
mind
to
walk
home.
I
thought
the
air
might
freshen
me a
little.
I
set
out
at
a
good
pace.
I
knew
every
foot
of
the
way,
as I
had
often
done
the
walk
before,
and
I
went
ahead
mechanically, with
my
mind
wrapt
up
in
a
very
important
matter
relating
to
my proper
studies.
As
a
matter
of
fact,
I
had
found
in
a
most
unexpected quarter
a
statement
that
threw
an
entirely
new
light
on
the
Rite
of the
Celtic
Church,
and
I
felt
that
I
might
be
on
the
verge
of
an important
discovery.
I
was
lost
in
a
maze
of
conjectures,
and
when I
looked
up
I
found
myself
standing
on
the
pavement
by
the
Angel, Islington,
totally
unaware
of
where
I
was
to
go
next.

"Yes,
quite
so:
I
knew
the
Angel
when
I
saw
it,
and
I
knew
I lived
in
Tollit
Square;
but
the
relation
between
the
two
had
entirely vanished
from
my
consciousness.
For
me,
there
were
no
longer
any points
of
the
compass;
there
was
no
such
thing
as
direction,
neither north
nor
south,
nor
left
nor
right,
an
extraordinary
sensation,
which I
don't
feel
I
have
made
plain
to
you
at
all.
I
was
a
good
deal
disturbed,
and
felt
that
I
must
move
somewhere,
so
I
set
off—and
found myself
at
King's
Cross
railway
station.
Then
I
did
the
only
thing there
was
to
be
done:
took
a
hansom
and
got
home,
feeling
shaky enough."

I
gathered
that
this
was
the
first
incident
of
significance
in
a
series of
odd
experiences
that
befell
this
learned
and
amiable
clergyman. His
memory
became
thoroughly
unreliable,
or
so
he
thought
at
first.

He
began
to
miss
important
papers
from
his
table
in
the
study. A
series
of
notes,
on
three
sheets
lettered
A,
B,
and
C,
were
placed by
him
on
the
table
under
a
paperweight
one
night,
just
before
he went
up
to
bed.
They
were
missing
when
he
went
into
his
study
the next
morning.
He
was
certain
that
he
had
put
them
in
that
particular place,
under
the
bulbous
glass
weight
with
the
pink
roses
embedded
in its
depths:
but
they
were
not
there.
Then
Mrs.
Sedger
knocked
at the
door
and
entered
with
the
papers
in
her
hand.
She
said
she
had found
them
between
the
bed
and
the
mattress
in
the
master's
bedroom,
and
thought
they
might
be
wanted.