machine is worthless. Where has it come from? Where has it gone? I
have drunk four glasses of brandy; I have a lease of four short
hours. Ordinarily it would bring reaction; it is poison, to be
sure; but it is driving back my spirit, giving me life and
strength enough to tell my story--in the morning I shall be no
more. By sequence I am a dead man already. Four glasses of brandy;
they are speaking. Whence comes this affinity of substance and of
shadow?"

We all of us listened, the doctor most of all. "Go on," he said.

"Can't you see?" repeated Watson. "There is affinity between
substance and shadow; and therefore your spirit or shadow or what
you will is concrete, is in itself a substance. It is material
just as much as you are. Because you do not see it is no proof
that it is not substance. That pot palm yonder does not see you;
it is not blessed with eyes."

The doctor looked at Watson; he spoke gently.

"This is very old stuff, my boy, out of your abstract philosophy.
No man knows the secret of life. Not even yourself."

The light in Watson's eyes grew brighter, he straightened; he
began slipping the ring from his finger.

"No," he answered. "I don't. I have tried and it was like playing
with lightning. I sought for life and it is giving me death. But
there is one man living who has found it."