He turned and went out through the door to his own room, the next one
along the hall.

Nigel, after hesitating a moment, strode over to the window. It was still
as black as a pocket outside, for dawn was not due for some hours yet,
and against the darkness the flames still danced their nightly revel. He
shook his fist at them and then broke into a harsh laugh as the thought
of Dacre Wynne came to him again. Dash the fellow! He was always, in some
way or another, intruding upon his privacy, whether it was mental or
otherwise. Then, as he looked, it seemed as though a fresh flame suddenly
flashed out in the velvet darkness to the left of the others. To his
excited fancy it looked bigger, brighter, _newer_! But that was
impossible! The Fens were uninhabited.

He watched the light for a moment or two, and then suddenly, obsessed
with a strange fear, strode across the room and picked up the tiny
revolver.

"Damn it! I'm going silly!" he exclaimed angrily, and throwing the window
open took aim, his brain on fire with the champagne and the excitement of
the evening. "Now let's see if you'll go, you infernal little devil!"

His finger touched the trigger, the thing spoke softly--that was one of
its chief attractions for Nigel--and spat forth a little jet of flame.
And as it did so, his brain cleared like magic. He laughed and shook
himself as though out of a trance into which he had fallen. The light was
still there. What a fool he was, potting at glow-worms like a madman!
He shut the window with a bang and started to undress, and then went over
to the door as he heard the doctor's voice outside.