"And it does--twice?



"It does more, much more. It scares me. Come up and see the stuff.

Taste it! Try it! It's the most amazing stuff on earth." He gripped

my arm and, walking at such a pace that he forced me into a trot,

went shouting with me up the hill. A whole char-a-banc-ful of people

turned and stared at us in unison after the manner of people in

chars-a-banc. It was one of those hot, clear days that Folkestone

sees so much of, every colour incredibly bright and every outline

hard. There was a breeze, of course, but not so much breeze as

sufficed under these conditions to keep me cool and dry. I panted for

mercy.



"I'm not walking fast, am I?" cried Gibberne, and slackened his pace

to a quick march.



"You've been taking some of this stuff," I puffed.



"No," he said. "At the utmost a drop of water that stood in a beaker

from which I had washed out the last traces of the stuff. I took

some last night, you know. But that is ancient history, now."



"And it goes twice?" I said, nearing his doorway in a grateful

perspiration.



"It goes a thousand times, many thousand times!" cried Gibberne, with

a dramatic gesture, flinging open his Early English carved oak gate.



"Phew!" said I, and followed him to the door.



"I don't know how many times it goes," he said, with his latch-key

in his hand.



"And you--"



"It throws all sorts of light on nervous physiology, it kicks the theory

of vision into a perfectly new shape! . . . Heaven knows how many

thousand times. We'll try all that after--The thing is to try the stuff

now."



"Try the stuff?" I said, as we went along the passage.



"Rather," said Gibberne, turning on me in his study. "There it is

in that little green phial there! Unless you happen to be afraid?"



I am a careful man by nature, and only theoretically adventurous.

I WAS afraid. But on the other hand there is pride.



"Well," I haggled. "You say you've tried it?"



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