I assured him that I could desire
no more charming chamber, and no more congenial surroundings. “If the fittings are neither convenient nor conventional, they are at
least costly,” said he, looking round at his shelves. “I have expended
nearly a quarter of a million of money upon these objects which surround
you. Books, weapons, gems, carvings, tapestries, images—there is hardly
a thing here which has not its history, and it is generally one worth
telling.”

He was seated as he spoke at one side of the open fireplace, and I at
the other. His reading table was on his right, and the strong lamp above
it ringed it with a very vivid circle of golden light. A half-rolled
palimpsest lay in the centre, and around it were many quaint articles of
bric-à-brac. One of these was a large funnel, such as is used for
filling wine casks. It appeared to be made of black wood, and to be
rimmed with discoloured brass. “That is a curious thing,” I remarked. “What is the history of that?”

“Ah!” said he, “it is the very question which I have had occasion to ask
myself. I would give a good deal to know. Take it in your hands and
examine it.”

I did so, and found that what I had imagined to be wood was in reality
leather, though age had dried it into an extreme hardness. It was a
large funnel, and might hold a quart when full. The brass rim encircled
the wide end, but the narrow was also tipped with metal. “What do you make of it?” asked Dacre. “I should imagine that it belonged to some vintner or maltster in the
middle ages,” said I. “I have seen in England leathern drinking flagons
of the seventeenth century—‘black jacks’ as they were called—which were
of the same colour and hardness as this filler.”

“I dare say the date would be about the same,” said Dacre, “and no
doubt, also, it was used for filling a vessel with liquid. If my
suspicions are correct, however, it was a queer vintner who used it, and
a very singular cask which was filled. Do you observe nothing strange at
the spout end of the funnel.”

As I held it to the light I observed that at a spot some five inches
above the brass tip the narrow neck of the leather funnel was all
haggled and scored, as if some one had notched it round with a blunt
knife. Only at that point was there any roughening of the dead black
surface. “Some one has tried to cut off the neck.”

“Would you call it a cut?”

“It is torn and lacerated. It must have taken some strength to leave
these marks on such tough material, whatever the instrument may have
been. But what do you think of it? I can tell that you know more than
you say.”

Dacre smiled, and his little eyes twinkled with knowledge. “Have you included the psychology of dreams among your learned studies?”
he asked. “I did not even know that there was such a psychology.”

“My dear sir, that shelf above the gem case is filled with volumes, from
Albertus Magnus onward, which deal with no other subject. It is a
science in itself.”

“A science of charlatans.”

“The charlatan is always the pioneer. From the astrologer came the
astronomer, from the alchemist the chemist, from the mesmerist the
experimental psychologist. The quack of yesterday is the professor of
to-morrow. Even such subtle and elusive things as dreams will in time be
reduced to system and order. When that time comes the researches of our
friends in the book-shelf yonder will no longer be the amusement of the
mystic, but the foundations of a science.”

“Supposing that is so, what has the science of dreams to do with a large
black brass-rimmed funnel?”

“I will tell you. You know that I have an agent who is always on the
lookout for rarities and curiosities for my collection. Some days ago he
heard of a dealer upon one of the Quais who had acquired some old
rubbish found in a cupboard in an ancient house at the back of the Rue
Mathurin, in the Quartier Latin. The dining-room of this old house is
decorated with a coat of arms, chevrons, and bars rouge upon a field
argent, which prove, upon inquiry, to be the shield of Nicholas de la
Reynie, a high official of King Louis XIV. There can be no doubt that
the other articles in the cupboard date back to the early days of that
king. The inference is, therefore, that they were all the property of
this Nicholas de la Reynie, who was, as I understand, the gentleman
specially concerned with the maintenance and execution of the Draconic
laws of that epoch.”

“What then?”

“I would ask you now to take the funnel into your hands once more and to
examine the upper brass rim. Can you make out any lettering upon it?”

There were certainly some scratches upon it, almost obliterated by time. The general effect was of several letters, the last of which bore some
resemblance to a B. “You make it a B?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So do I. In fact, I have no doubt whatever that it is a B.”

“But the nobleman you mentioned would have had R for his initial.”

“Exactly! That’s the beauty of it. He owned this curious object, and yet
he had some one else’s initials upon it. Why did he do this?”

“I can’t imagine; can you?”

“Well, I might, perhaps, guess. Do you observe something drawn a little
further along the rim?”

“I should say it was a crown.”

“It is undoubtedly a crown; but if you examine it in a good light, you
will convince yourself that it is not an ordinary crown. It is a
heraldic crown—a badge of rank, and it consists of an alternation of
four pearls and strawberry leaves, the proper badge of a marquis. We may
infer, therefore, that the person whose initials end in B was entitled
to wear that coronet.”

“Then this common leather filler belonged to a marquis?”

Dacre gave a peculiar smile. “Or to some member of the family of a marquis,” said he. “So much we
have clearly gathered from this engraved rim.”

“But what has all this to do with dreams?” I do not know whether it was
from a look upon Dacre’s face, or from some subtle suggestion in his
manner, but a feeling of repulsion, of unreasoning horror, came upon me
as I looked at the gnarled old lump of leather. “I have more than once received important information through my
dreams,” said my companion, in the didactic manner which he loved to
affect. “I make it a rule now when I am in doubt upon any material point
to place the article in question beside me as I sleep, and to hope for
some enlightenment. The process does not appear to me to be very
obscure, though it has not yet received the blessing of orthodox
science. According to my theory, any object which has been intimately
associated with any supreme paroxysm of human emotion, whether it be joy
or pain, will retain a certain atmosphere or association which it is
capable of communicating to a sensitive mind.