"My dear fellow," he said, "frankly it's impossible to say. You know what women are; and that letter may give quite a false impression of what really took place. You see what I mean: in her anxiety she may have exaggerated some jocular remark. She's had a very wearing time, and her own nerves are probably a bit on edge. But----" he paused and leaned back. "Encore du vin, s'il vous plait, mam'selle. But, Ginger, it's no good pretending, there may be a very much more sinister meaning behind it all. The brain is a most complex organisation, and even such men as Cremer are only standing on the threshold of knowledge with regard to it. They know a lot--but how much more there is to learn! Latimer, as you know, owes his life practically to a miracle. Not once in a thousand times would a man escape instant death under such circumstances. A great deal of brain matter was exposed, and subsequently removed at Boulogne by Sir William, when he trephined. And it is possible that some radical alteration has taken place in Hugh Latimer's character, soul--whatever you choose to call that part of a man which controls his life--as a result of the operation. If what Mrs. Latimer says is the truth--and when I say that I mean if what she says is to be relied on as a cold, bald statement of what happened--then I am bound to say that I think the matter is very serious indeed." "God Almighty!" I cried, "do you mean to say that you think there is a chance of Hugh going mad?" "To be perfectly frank, I do; always granted that that letter is reliable. I consider it vital that whether he wishes to or whether he doesn't, Sir William Cremer should be consulted. And--_at once_." The doctor emphasised his words with his fist on the table. "Great Scott! Doc," I muttered. "Do you really think there is danger?" "I don't know enough of the case to say that. But I do know something about the brain, enough to say that there might be not only danger, but hideous danger, to everyone in the house." He was silent for a bit and then rapped out. "Does Mrs. Latimer share the same room as her husband?" "I really don't know," I answered. "I imagine so." "Well, I don't know how well you know her; but until Sir William gives a definite opinion, if I knew her well enough, I would strongly advise her to sleep in another room--_and lock the door_." "Good God! you think ..." "Look here, Ginger, what's the good of beating about the bush. It is possible--I won't say probable--that Hugh Latimer is on the road to becoming a homicidal maniac. And if, by any chance, that assumption is correct, the most hideous tragedy might happen at any moment. Mam'selle, l'addition s'il vous plait. You're going on leave shortly, aren't you?" "In two days," I answered. "Well, go down and see for yourself; it won't require a doctor to notice the symptoms. And if what I fear is correct, track out Cremer in his lair--find him somehow and find him quickly."