you to be in touch with the—what shall I say—the residence business"
"Yes?" said Mr. Kirby, with a polite inflection.
"Well, the fact is," blurted out the Philosopher, "my case presents a point of the highest possible interest, the highest possible scientific interest, in which you might help me. It is about a house." And here the Professor stopped dead.
Mr. Kirby watched him with crossed legs, joined finger-tips, and a very hierarchical expression.
Professor Higginson continued—
"I have an instinct, purely subliminal, mind you" (Mr. Kirby nodded, but never took his eyes off the Professor's face, and the Professor's eyes on their side never left the floor), "purely subliminal, but a strong instinct that during those days I was—I saw—no, I mean I was spiritually present in a House—a sort of, well, House!" Mr. Kirby nodded again. "I—I—I had a sort of dream"
"Wait a moment, Professor," said Mr. Kirby respectfully, "we must get all this quite clear. At first I understood that your complete loss of memory involved a breach in the continuity of consciousness—a blank as
