"Years ago," said Mr. Britton, slowly, "I formed the habit of studying people; at first as I met them; later as I heard or read of them. Facts gathered here and there concerning a person's life I put together, piece by piece, studying his actions and the probable motives governing those actions, until I had a mental picture of the real man, the 'ego' that constitutes the foundation of the character of every individual. Having that fixed in my mind I next strove to form an idea of the exterior which that particular 'ego' would gradually build about himself through his habits of thought and speech and action. In this way, by a careful study of a man's life, I can form something of an idea of his appearance. I have often put this to the test by visiting various penitentiaries in order to meet some of the noted criminals of whose careers I had made a study, and invariably, in expression, in voice and manner, in gait and bearing, in the hundred and one little indices by which the soul betrays itself, I have found them as I had mentally portrayed them." Mr. Britton had risen while speaking and was walking back and forth before the fire. "I see!" Darrell exclaimed; "and you have formed a mental portrait of this man by which you expect to recognize and identify him?" "I am satisfied that I would have no difficulty in recognizing him," Mr. Britton replied, with peculiar emphasis on the last words; "the work of identification,"--he paused in front of Darrell, looking him earnestly in the face,--"that, I hope, will one day be yours." "Mine!" exclaimed Darrell. "How so? I do not understand." "Mr. Underwood has told me that soon after your arrival at The Pines and just before you became delirious, there was something on your mind in connection with the robbery and Whitcomb's death which you wished to tell him but were unable to recall; and both he and his sister have said that often during your delirium you would mutter, 'That face! I can never forget it; it will haunt me as long as I live!' It has always been my belief that amidst the horrors of the scene you witnessed that night, you in some way got sight of the murderer's face, which impressed you so strongly that it haunted you even in your delirium. It is my hope that with the return of memory there will come a vision of that face sufficiently clear that you will be able to identify it should you meet it, as I believe you will." Darrell scrutinized his friend closely before replying, noting his evident agitation. "You have already met this man and recognized him!" he exclaimed. "Possibly!" was the only reply. _Chapter XXII_ THE FETTERS BROKEN