As she went on, Pringle's admiration gave way to amazement. A scientific witness could not be more unmoved. Was it possible this superb woman opposite him had been explaining to him in these cold, measured accents her way of accounting for the death of a husband who had been alive and without any immediate danger of death a couple of days ago, and who had since died a death which was, to say the least of it, provocative of inquiry? He leaned back in his chair, sighed thoughtfully, and knit his brows. He cleared his throat once or twice to speak, but remained silent. He felt dull and heavy, as though something oppressed his chest. "That is my theory--the only possible theory," she said, leaning forward and looking quietly into his face, without any change in the expression of her own. He shook himself slightly, looked perplexed, not satisfied. At last he spoke: "And what evidence have we in support of this supposition?" She leaned back in her chair and whispered, "None." He started, sat up, and looked at her keenly. He drew down his brows over his eyes as though the light hurt him. "I am afraid," said he, "such a theory would not stand without most substantial testimony. No jury would give a satisfactory verdict on a mere statement such as that, for, you see, there are the last words written by the deceased." Until this moment he had not used that cold, formless word "deceased" to her. But he felt now that he was regarding the matter in a purely professional way, and that so was she. In a moment he continued, laying impressively significant emphasis on his words: "How are we to explain the fact of Mr. Blake's name appearing on that piece of paper?" "Mr. Blake," she said, half-closing her eyes as though she was weary, "was the last person he saw before his death, and, when the delirium came upon him, he naturally introduced the name of Mr. Blake as being that of the person most immediate to his memory." "What!" cried Pringle, starting up off his chair and leaning towards her, "Do we admit he was there?" He could scarcely contain himself for astonishment. He looked at her as though he expected to find her transformed into the person of Blake himself. "Undoubtedly," she said, opening her eyes slowly and looking up at him. "Mr. Blake was there a little while before Mr. Davenport died." Pringle groaned, ran his fingers excitedly through his hair, and began pacing the room up and down hastily. After a dozen turns, he stopped in front of her chair. "When did you learn that your late husband had had hallucinations?" "Last night." "Last night only! Who told you?" "Mr. Blake." "Mr. Blake!--Mr. Blake! And who saw your husband when he was suffering from these hallucinations?" "Mr. Blake." "And is he the witness we have as to the hallucinations?" "Yes." "Merciful heavens! Which of us is mad? Where did you meet this Blake?" "I wrote to him to come here, and he came."