The devil had made as though to stretch forth his hand across the
table, but he paused in his gesture.

"A hundred years hence, as now," he smiled, "no smoking allowed
in the reading-room. You would better therefore--"

Soames removed the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it into
his glass of Sauterne.

"Soames!" again I cried. "Can't you"--but the devil had now
stretched forth his hand across the table. He brought it slowly down on
the table-cloth. Soames's chair was empty. His cigarette floated sodden
in his wine-glass. There was no other trace of him.

For a few moments the devil let his hand rest where it lay, gazing at
me out of the corners of his eyes, vulgarly triumphant.

A shudder shook me. With an effort I controlled myself and rose
from my chair. "Very clever," I said condescendingly. "But--'The Time
Machine' is a delightful book, don't you think? So entirely original!"

"You are pleased to sneer," said the devil, who had also risen, "but
it is one thing to write about an impossible machine; it is a quite other
thing to be a supernatural power." All the same, I had scored.

Berthe had come forth at the sound of our rising. I explained to her
that Mr. Soames had been called away, and that both he and I would be
dining here. It was not until I was out in the open air that I began to feel
giddy. I have but the haziest recollection of what I did, where I