“It is Harry all right,” he agreed. “It’s clear enough what has happened. He was shell-shocked. The hospital authorities found nothing on him by which to identify him. No one happened to recognize him. When he recovered consciousness he thought he was someone else--was, in fact, someone else. There are half-a-dozen cases on record, to my knowledge--cases that have nothing to do with the war. Dissociation of personality is the technical term of it. He just ceases to be Tremaine--and becomes Durham, with all its implications.” “But, Jack!” she expostulated. “We _know_ he’s not Durham!” He shrugged his shoulders as he lifted up the telephone receiver. “What good will it do to proclaim our knowledge?” he asked. “It insists merely on double bigamy--smash-up all round!” “Then----?” she clutched at him. “You’re going to----?” He turned to answer the challenge of the telephone operator, gave a number. “Hallo!--The Newport Hotel--Will you ask Mrs. Durham to come to the telephone, please?--She’s staying at Room 363--right!--I’ll hold on!” “Jack! Jack!” His wife implored him. “It’s not right--it _can’t_ be right!--We must tell her!” His attention was claimed by the telephone. “Hallo!--Is that Mrs. Durham?--My name’s Satterthwaite, no, you won’t recognize it.--Your husband has met with a slight accident--nothing serious--he’s here and he wants to know if you’ll come round and fetch him as he feels rather shaky--yes----” he gave the address, “--yes--ground-floor flat. Very good. We’ll expect you.” He put up the receiver, turned to his wife with a grim smile. “Now we shall see what Harry’s other choice is like,” he said. She was not to be diverted. “But, Jack--you’ll tell her?--You _must_ tell her!” she implored. He looked her full in the eyes. His voice was grave. “Evelyn! Are you tired of our life together? Do you prefer him to me?” She turned away her head with a hopeless gesture. “Oh, don’t ask me! Don’t tempt me!--I don’t want to think of myself--I only want to do what is right! And how can it be right to--to let him go away like a stranger from all that was his!” He laid his hands upon her shoulders, forced her gaze to meet his again. “And is it right, Evelyn, to break your life, to break my life, to break this woman’s life--to put Harry himself into an impossible position--out of a quixotic regard for pure ethics?” “Oh, I don’t know!” she said, shaking her head in mental anguish. “I only know that he’s Harry--and that we’re disowning him----” “But he does not know that he is Harry Tremaine--he’s quite content to be Durham!” “And if he wakes up again and remembers?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Wait till it happens. We can only deal with the actual situation. At the present time he’s quite happily Durham!--Now, dear,” he smiled affection, “trust me! Leave it all to me--just keep quiet!” He kissed her on the brow. “It will all work out.” She turned away, shuddering. “He was my husband,” she said, drearily.