darkness within a darkness; like some dazed alien bee bursting
through the sentinels of a hive; one mad impetuous clutch at
victory; then the appalling stirring on the other side; the
groping back to a house dismantled, rearranged, not, mind you,
disorganised or disintegrated....' He broke off with a smile,
as if of apology for his long, fantastic harangue.

Lawford sat listening, his eyes fixed on Herbert's colourless
face. There was not a sound else, it seemed, than that slightly
drawling scrupulous voice poking its way amid a maze of enticing,
baffling thoughts. Herbert turned away with a shrug. 'It's
tempting stuff,' he said, choosing another cigarette. 'But
anyhow, the poor beggar failed.'

'Failed?'

'Why, surely; if he had succeeded I should not now be talking to
a mere imperfect simulacrum, to the outward illusion of a passing
likeness to the man, but to Sabathier himself!' His eyes moved
slowly round and dwelt for a moment with a dark, quiet scrutiny
on his visitor.

'You say a passing likeness; do you MEAN that?'

Herbert smiled indulgently. 'If one CAN mean what is purely a
speculation. I am only trying to look at the thing
dispassionately, you see. We are so much the slaves of mere
repetition. Here is life--yours and mine--a kind of plenum in
vacuo. It is only when we begin to play the eavesdropper; when
something goes askew; when one of the sentries on the frontier of