This had been going on for some time, until I was accustomed, if not exactly inured, to it, and was really rather looking forward to the time when, on returning to London, I could trump up a sufficient ailment to call upon my double in Wigley Street and scrutinize him with my own eyes.  But last night my friend had something of a set-back, which may possibly, by deflecting his conversation to other topics, give me relief.  I hope so.

It happened like this.  We were sitting in the smoking-room as usual, he and I, when another local acquaintance entered—­one who, I gathered, had been away for a few weeks and whom I had therefore not yet seen, and who (for this was the really important thing to my friend) consequently had not yet seen me.

In course of time the inevitable occurred.  “Don’t you think,” my friend asked, “that Mr. Blank is the very image of Dr. Sullivan of Wigley Street, who was here last summer?”

“What Dr. Sullivan’s that?” the newcomer inquired.

“Dr. Sullivan of Wigley Street, who was fishing here last summer.  Don’t you remember him?  The very image of Mr. Blank.”

“The only Dr. Sullivan I know,” replied the newcomer, “is Dr. Sullivan of Newcastle.  He’s a very old man by now.  A very learned man too.  He has a wonderful private museum.  He—­”

“No, no, the Dr. Sullivan I mean was From Wigley Street—­a specialist—­who took the Manor fishing last summer and stayed in the hotel.”

“Dr. Sullivan of Newcastle is a very old man—­much older than Mr. Blank here, and not a bit like him.  He’s a most interesting personality.  He is the great authority on the South Sea Islanders.  You should see his collection of Fiji war clubs.”

“But that’s not the Dr. Sullivan I mean.  You must remember him,” said my impresario; “we all used to meet evening after evening, just as we’re doing now—­Dr. Sullivan of Wigley Street, the specialist, a clean-shaven big man, exactly like Mr. Blank here.  Everyone has noticed the likeness.”

“Dr. Sullivan of Newcastle has a beard,” said the newcomer.  “And he’s a very old man by now.  A great receptacle of miscellaneous learning.  He showed me once his collection of coins and medals.  He’s got coins back to the Roman Emperors and stories about every one of them.  His collection—­”

“Yes, but—­”

“—­of idols is amazing.  You never saw such comic figures as those natives worship.  There’s nothing he doesn’t collect.  He’s got a mummy covered with blue beads.  He’s got skulls from all over the world, showing different formations.  It’s some years—­”

“Yes, but—­”

“—­since I saw him last, and of course he may be—­”

“Yes, but—­”

“—­dead.  But if not he’s a man worth knowing.  If ever you go to Newcastle don’t forget about him.  But he must be very old by now.  He—­”

At this point I finished my glass and slipped away to bed.  Consulting the mirror as I undressed, I smiled at the reflection that confronted me.  “You can sleep well to-night,” I said, “for there are signs that you are about to have a rest.”