“I’m walking up St. James’ Street,” he said slowly. “Now I’ve come to the club and I’m going past the smoking-room windows⁠—one⁠—two⁠—three⁠—four. Now I’m at the steps. I turn in and begin going up them. One⁠—two⁠—three⁠—four⁠—five⁠—six, then a broad step; six⁠—seven⁠—eight⁠—nine, another broad step; nine⁠—ten⁠—eleven. Eleven⁠—I’m inside. Good morning, Rogers. Fine day again.” With a little start he opened his eyes and came back again to his present surroundings. He turned to Bill with a smile. “Eleven,” he said. “Count them the next time you’re there. Eleven⁠—and now I hope I shall forget it again.”

Bill was distinctly interested.

“That’s rather hot,” he said. “Expound.”