I didn't take stock in this, and
one night brought some photographs with me, and asked for a
description of them. This he gave correctly, winding up by saying,
'The one nearest your body is that of ---'"
Here my friend named a person well known to both of us, whose name I
prefer not to introduce here. This person, I may add, had never been
in or near the island, and was totally unknown to Bolter.
"Of course," my friend went on, "the photographs were all the time
inside my pocket. Now, really, Bolter had some mystic power of seeing
in the dark."
"Hyperaesthesia!" said I.
"Hypercriticism!" said the Beach-comber.
"What happened next _might_ be hyperaesthesia--I suppose you mean
abnormal intensity of the senses--but how could hyperaesthesia see
through a tweed coat and lining?"
"Well, what happened next?"
"Bolter's firm used to get sheep by every mail from ---, and send them
regularly to their station, six miles off. One time they landed late
in the afternoon, and yet were foolishly sent off, Bolter in charge.
I said at the time he would lose half the lot, as it would be dark
long before he could reach the station.
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