Once, however, it did recur to me with some force. Shortly after I
came to England to spend my remaining days far from the temptations of
adventure, I was beguiled into becoming a steward of a Charity dinner
and, what was worse, into attending the said dinner. Although its
objects were admirable, it proved one of the most dreadful functions
in which I was ever called upon to share. There was a vast number of
people, some of them highly distinguished, who had come to support the
Charity or to show off their Orders, I don't know which, and others
like myself, not at all distinguished, just common subscribers, who
had no Orders and stood about the crowded room like waiters looking
for a job.

At the dinner, which was very bad, I sat at a table so remote that I
could hear but little of the interminable speeches, which was perhaps
fortunate for me. In these circumstances I drifted into conversation
with my neighbour, a queer, wizened, black-bearded man who somehow or
other had found out that I was acquainted with the wilder parts of
Africa. He proved to be a wealthy scientist whose passion it was to
study the properties of herbs, especially of such as grow in the
interior of South America where he had been travelling for some years.

Presently he mentioned a root named Yage, known to the Indians which,
when pounded up into a paste and taken in the form of pills, had the
effect of enabling the patient to see events that were passing at a
distance. Indeed he alleged that a vision thus produced had caused him
to return home, since in it he saw that some relative of his, I think
a twin-sister, was dangerously ill. In fact, however, he might as well
have stayed away, as he only arrived in London on the day after her
funeral.