Satterthwaite contemplated him for a moment with eyes that searched him to the depths. “H’m!” he said, meditatively. “There’s something extraordinary about this!--Won’t you sit down, Mr. Tremaine?” He pointed to a chair. “Let us discuss this matter amicably--it’s not so simple as you think, and hostility won’t help us.” Tremaine hesitated a moment, a flicker of angry revolt in his eyes. But there was a note in Satterthwaite’s quiet tones which more than invited compliance, and he seated himself in the chair with a shrug of the shoulders which justified him in himself. “This is my flat--and my wife,” he said, “anyway!” The assertion sounded curiously weak. The young woman watched him speechlessly. Satterthwaite caressed his chin with that little gesture which was habitual to him when commencing the cross-examination of a witness. He began in the suave, deliberate tones familiar to the Courts. “What is the last thing you can remember, Mr. Tremaine?” he asked. Tremaine stared at him. “I--I think----” he began, hesitatingly, almost automatically responsive to Satterthwaite’s seductive voice. Then he stopped, the baffled look again in his eyes. “What the devil has it got to do with you?” he demanded, in exasperation. Satterthwaite was unruffled. “It has a great deal to do with me, Mr. Tremaine,” he said, “and with all of us here. So please try to answer my questions.” Tremaine’s eyes blazed at him. “What right have you to question me?--What are you doing here at all, that’s what I want to know?” Satterthwaite soothed him with a gesture. “We’re coming to that presently. Answer my questions now--and afterward you can put any questions to me that you like. Now--try and remember!” Tremaine relapsed sullenly. It was evident that he was secretly conscious of the inferiority in which his absence of memory placed him. His eyes sought the young woman as though to elicit some key-point of remembrance, came back empty. “Well?” he said, with suspicious ill-humour. Satterthwaite was courtesy itself. “Now, think! Carry your mind back! You were in the Army, weren’t you?” “Of course!” “You remember that--perfectly?” “Yes--of course I do!” His tone was impatient. “Good! You remember being in France?” “I should think so!” “In what part of France were you last?” “In the Argonne.” “Right! Now--when did you leave France?” Tremaine hesitated, bit his lip. The eyes went blank again. “I--I can’t remember.” “Do you remember leaving France at all?--Do you remember the voyage?” There was a silence whilst Tremaine evidently made an effort of memory. “No,” he said, at last, “I cannot remember it.” “Ah!--Now, what is the last thing you can remember in France? You were in the trenches, I suppose?”