But first let us clearly differentiate between the preceding portion of this story and what is to follow.  All I have told thus far is established by such evidence as even a criminal lawyer would approve.  Every one of the witnesses is still alive; the reader, if he have the leisure, may hunt the lads out to-morrow, or even brave the terrors of the redoubtable Lidgett, and cross-examine and trap and test to his heart’s content; Gottfried Plattner himself, and his twisted heart and his three photographs, are producible.  It may be taken as proved that he did disappear for nine days as the consequence of an explosion; that he returned almost as violently, under circumstances in their nature annoying to Mr. Lidgett, whatever the details of those circumstances may be; and that he returned inverted, just as a reflection returns from a mirror.  From the last fact, as I have already stated, it follows almost inevitably that Plattner, during those nine days, must have been in some state of existence altogether out of space.  The evidence to these statements is, indeed, far stronger than that upon which most murderers are hanged.  But for his own particular account of where he had been, with its confused explanations and wellnigh self-contradictory details, we have only Mr. Gottfried Plattner’s word.  I do not wish to discredit that, but I must point out—­what so many writers upon obscure psychic phenomena fail to do—­that we are passing here from the practically undeniable to that kind of matter which any reasonable man is entitled to believe or reject as he thinks proper.  The previous statements render it plausible; its discordance with common experience tilts it towards the incredible.  I would prefer not to sway the beam of the reader’s judgment either way, but simply to tell the story as Plattner told it me.

He gave me his narrative, I may state, at my house at Chislehurst, and so soon as he had left me that evening, I went into my study and wrote down everything as I remembered it.  Subsequently he was good enough to read over a type-written copy, so that its substantial correctness is undeniable.

He states that at the moment of the explosion he distinctly thought he was killed.  He felt lifted off his feet and driven forcibly backward.  It is a curious fact for psychologists that he thought clearly during his backward flight, and wondered whether he should hit the chemistry cupboard or the blackboard easel.  His heels struck ground, and he staggered and fell heavily into a sitting position on something soft and firm.  For a moment the concussion stunned him.  He became aware at once of a vivid scent of singed hair, and he seemed to hear the voice of Lidgett asking for him.  You will understand that for a time his mind was greatly confused.