He found
relief. For Minks, with his delightful tact, asked no awkward
questions. He referred neither to the defunct Scheme, nor mentioned
the new one that held 'a beauty of the stars.' He waited. Rogers also
waited.
And, while he waited, he grew conscious more and more of an enormous
thing that passed, driving behind, _below_, his daily external life.
He could never quite get at it. In there, down out of sight somewhere,
he knew everything. His waking existence was fed invisibly from below.
In the daytime he now frequently caught himself attempting to recover
the memory of things that went on elsewhere, things he was personally
involved in, vital things. This daylight effort to recover them was as
irksome as the attempt to draw a loose hair that has wound about the
tongue. He spoke at length to Minks about it.
'Some part of you,' replied the imperturbable secretary, after
listening carefully to his master's vague description of the symptoms,
'is being engaged elsewhere--very actively engaged---'
'Eh?' asked Rogers, puzzled.
'Probably at night, sir, while your brain and body sleep,' Minks
elaborated, 'your energetic spirit is out--on the plane of causes---'
The other gasped slightly, 'While my body lies unconscious?'
'Your spirit may be busy at all kinds of things.
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