The room was the private study of Dr. William Kinney. In itself, it
was not at all out of the ordinary. Shelves of books, cases of
surgical and psychological instruments, star charts, maps and
astronomical apparatus--these told at once both the man's vocation
and avocation. With these contents and rather severe furnishings the
room was merely interesting, not remarkable.

But its four chairs certainly were. Each of them was occupied by a
human being; and as Mrs. Kinney and her caller entered, neither of
the four so much as stirred. They were all asleep.

In the nearest chair was the doctor himself, half sitting and half
reclining; in fact, all four of the sleepers were in attitudes of
complete relaxation. The doctor's gray head was resting on one
shoulder wearily.

On his left was a man of medium height and commonplace countenance.
"Mr. Smith," whispered Mrs. Kinney, placing her mouth close to the
caller's ear, so that he might hear the better.

Opposite these two sat a man and a woman, their chairs placed close
together. The one was a slender, well-dressed, boyishly good looking
young woman of perhaps thirty; the other a large, aggressively
handsome fellow possibly five years older. "Mr. and Mrs. Van Emmon,"
explained Mrs. Kinney, still in a whisper.

The four sat absolutely motionless; the caller, looking very
closely, could hardly make out the rising and falling of their
chests as they breathed. Also, he saw that they were all connected,
the one with the other by means of insulated wires which ran to