He looked hurt and baffled as he slid off the mattress and stretched his monolithic corpulence. "What's wrong?" - He enquired - "Anything I did to offend you last night? You shouldn't have asked all these questions if you didn't want to hear my answers, you know!" "Where's Isabel?" - I demanded. He eyed me queerly and pleaded sadly: "We are not going to go through all this again, are we, dear?" "Go through what and I am asking you for the last time: where is Isabel, your wife?" He sighed and collapsed on the bed, depressing it considerably as he held onto one of the bedposts: "I will call Dr. Milton. Promise me you won't do anything stupid until he has had the chance to see you." "I am going to call the police on you. Isabel announces her intention to disinherit you and the next morning she is mysteriously gone. Dead, for all I know!" "Isabel is alive and well, I give you my word." - Said her husband and, for some reason, I believed him. He sounded sincere. "Then why can't I see her?" "You can, once Dr. Milton arrives. Is that too much to ask? He will be here in less than half an hour. Edward already apprised him of the situation last night." "Last night?" - I felt confused - "What situation? And who's Dr. Milton?" He got up and made to leave when I noticed that my makeup compact was gone. "Where are my things? What have you done with my things?" "They are in the next room. Dr. Milton will let you have them after he has made sure that they include nothing dangerous." "Dangerous?" - I exploded - "Am I a prisoner here? I insist to use the phone! I am going to call the police right now!" "Please, for your own good, don't exit the room." - Said my uninvited visitor - "I have covered the mirrors here and have removed your make up pouch but I can't well take care of all the reflecting surfaces: windows and such." "Mirrors? What are you going about? You need professional help. I am a therapist. Won't you tell me what the problem is? What have you done to Isabel? Are you afraid to look at yourself in the mirror? Are you terrified of what you might see there? Have you killed her? Are you tormented by guilt?" - It wasn't very professional behavior but I decided that I had nothing to lose by abrogating the therapeutic protocol. Clearly, I was being held hostage by a gang of killers or a murderous cult. "Isabel." - Said a familiar voice from across the threshold. "Thank God you have arrived!" - Cried Isabel's husband - "She is having one of her attacks." Into the chamber came Milton, clay pipe, eternal dungarees and all. He was accompanied by a young woman that looked startlingly familiar. She glanced at me from across the room. She smiled. She appeared to be friendly, so I reciprocated, hesitantly. Milton said: "I hope you don't mind that I have asked your therapist to join me. She told me everything about last night. You invited her here as your guest, you remember?"