THE DREAM
151
He leaned forward. His voice dropped to a
croak.
"Yes. Yes,.. I want to hear what you've got to
say--what you think .... Go to the top! That's
my way! The best doctor--the best detective--it's
between the two of them."
"As yet, Monsieur, I do not understand."
"Naturally," snapped Farley. "I haven't begun
to tell you."
He leaned forward once more and shot out an
abrupt question.
"What do you know, M. Poirot, about
dreams?"
The little man's eyebrows rose. Whatever he
had expected, it was not this.
"For that, Monsieur Farley, I should recommend
Napoleon's Book of Dreams--or the latest
practicing psychologist from Harley Street."
Benedict Farley said soberly, "I've tried go th .... ' '
There was a paus.e, then the millionaire spoke,
at first almost in a whisper, then with a voice
growing higher and higher.
"It's the same dream--night after night. And
I'm afraid, I tell you--I'm afraid .... It's always
the same. I'm sitting in my room next door to this.
Sitting at my desk, writing. There's a clock there
and I glance at it and see the time--exactly twenty-eight
minutes past three. Always the same time,