The soft voice of De Medici came out of the shadows. His choler growing, the doctor continued: “Why don’t you try crystal-gazing? Sitting in a room like this, candlesticks, darkness, drapes, and bombarding yourself with the fancy that you’re someone else! What do you expect? Something is bound to happen if you keep it up long enough.” “I am satisfied.” The soft calm of De Medici’s voice seemed to infuriate his friend. “And you claim to be in love with Florence,” he cried. “Yet you haven’t made a move to help her. They’ll close in on her any day now. We’ve got to do something. Come now, I want to talk to you. Do you think her innocent?” “I prefer her guilty,” De Medici whispered. “Hm,” the scientist grunted. He sat stroking his heavy face. “Monomania,” he muttered as if to himself. He raised his voice. “What form do these idiotic delusions of yours take?” Glaring into the shadows he waited for De Medici’s words. They came languidly out of the darkness— “Neither delusion nor idiocy, Hugo. She unquestionably murdered her father. And I find the situation to my liking.” Dr. Lytton was on his feet. He walked swiftly to the side of De Medici and seized his shoulder. “I came here to talk to you chiefly about her,” he said. “Ballau was my dear friend.” De Medici’s eyes remained intently on the shadowed curtains. “I know, I know,” he whispered. “You’ve been working hard. And you’ve found out what I know. You’ve found it was Florence.” “Can you drag yourself out of your delusions long enough to think sanely?” the doctor cried. “My mind is perfectly clear,” De Medici answered. He lighted a cigarette in the half dark, his eyes watching the glow of the tobacco. “You have discovered that someone telephoned her at the theater, that she was in the apartment more than a half hour before giving the alarm. And other details.” “Yes, other details,” Dr. Lytton repeated warily. De Medici sighed. “You’ve interrupted a charming dream,” he said, rising from the chair. His hand passed tiredly over his forehead. The scientist regarded him closely. He saw the lean face of his host shudder and the gleaming eyes close for a moment. “Ah,” continued De Medici in a murmur, “it comes over me like that. A dream obliterates me. I sit and watch myself from a distance.” He smiled wearily at his friend. “Are you interested in my symptoms, Hugo?” “Go on,” the doctor answered.