"Don't trouble, old chap," said Isbister. "I think
I can understand. At any rate, it don't matter very
much just at present about telling me, you know."

The sleepless man thrust his knuckles into his eyes
and rubbed them. Isbister talked for awhile while
this rubbing continued, and then he had a fresh idea.
"Come down to my room," he said, "and try a pipe.
I can show you some sketches of this Blackapit. If
you'd care?"

The other rose obediently and followed him down
the steep.

Several times Isbister heard him stumble as they
came down, and his movements were slow and hesitating.
"Come in with me," said Isbister, "and try
some cigarettes and the blessed gift of alcohol. If
you take alcohol?"

The stranger hesitated at the garden gate. He
seemed no longer clearly aware of his actions. "I
don't drink," he said slowly, coming up the garden
path, and after a moment's interval repeated absently,
"No -- I don't drink. It goes round. Spin, it goes
-- spin --"

He stumbled at the doorstep and entered the room
with the bearing of one who sees nothing.