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 vinced that to give a work of this character a proper background one must know a great deal more than one tells. That, in fact, is the secret of all fine literature, the secret of all great art, that it conceals and suggests. The edges, of course, are rounded: it is not a rough and obvious concealment. You cannot begin not to tell until you know more than you are willing to impart. These books have given me a good deal, but I must go farther—as I am convinced that Machen has gone farther. I am going through with it. . . all through with it, searching out the secrets of life and death, a few of which I have discovered already, but I have yet to make the great test. And when I know what I shall find out, I shall begin to write. . . but I shall tell nothing.

Peter was flaming with enthusiasm again. It wasn't necessary for me to speak. He required an audience, not an interlocutor.

Why not now? he demanded suddenly. Why not now and here, with you?

What do you mean? I queried.

Why not make the great experiment now? I am prepared and the moon and the planets are favourable. Are you willing to go through with it? I must warn you that you will never be the same again. You may even lose your life.

What will happen? I asked.

The earth will rock. A storm will probably follow, thunder and lightning, balls of fire, thunder-