Publisher's Synopsis
One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walkedfrom that place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there.Halfway down the precipitous path to the Pentargen beach he came suddenly upon a mansitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands ofthis man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his facewas wet with tears.He glanced round at Isbister's footfall. Both men were disconcerted, Isbister the more so, and, to override the awkwardness of his involuntary pause, he remarked, with an air ofmature conviction, that the weather was hot for the time of year."Very," answered the stranger shortly, hesitated a second, and added in a colourlesstone, "I can't sleep."Isbister stopped abruptly. "No?" was all he said, but his bearing conveyed hishelpful impulse."It may sound incredible," said the stranger, turning weary eyes to Isbister's face andemphasizing his words with a languid hand, "but I have had no sleep-no sleep at all forsixnights.""Had advice?"the"Yes. run of Bad people. adviceIt's forhard the most to explain. part. Drugs. I dare not My ntake... ervous system sufficiently .... They are all very well for powerful drugs.""That makes it difficult," said Isbiste
