“If Jenny is questioned during her apparently normal intervals,” he said, “it will be found that she has not only entirely forgotten everything that happened during her somnambulism, but that the whole tragedy of her boy’s death has completely disappeared from her conscious mind. She remembers nothing of the minutes she stood watching her son slipping from the window ledge. And if you press her she’ll discuss his death vaguely and indifferently as if it were the death of someone else’s child. She’ll say, ‘Oh, he just died, that’s all.’ And reveal no interest or emotion whatsoever. Yet concerning all other things of her past life she has a rather keen memory. “This curious localized loss of memory or amnesia is found in some cases. In other dual personality cases we have a complete loss of memory of all events preceding the shock that produced the disassociation. So you see, science absolves you, Julien.” De Medici nodded. “Now we come to Florence Ballau. A high-strung, vivid temperament,” continued Dr. Lytton. “The letter signed Floria and decorated with the dagger reveals one thing. Its writer is suffering from delusions of persecution. Persecutory delusions are a common form of mental disorder. We all have them more or less. Floria is the terrified and persecuted thing that dwells in the soul of Florence Ballau. At times this terrified thing usurps the body of Miss Ballau and lives its own mysterious life. As in the case of Jenny it is not an inherited phenomenon. It was induced by shock of some sort. Florence may be dimly aware of the change after she returns to herself. More likely, however, she is merely distracted, depressed, and suffers from a sense of bewilderment.” De Medici nodded again. “I remember something,” he said slowly. “I thought you would,” smiled Dr. Lytton. “I had called at her apartment unexpectedly. It was last year. I rang the bell a half dozen times before anyone answered. Finally the door was opened by Florence. I hardly recognized her. She stood before me white-faced and eyes staring. I had a feeling for the moment that something terrible had happened, was happening. I tried to pass it over—such things always confuse me violently—by inviting myself in for a cup of tea. She stood looking at me almost as if she failed to recognize me. Then she said, ‘Father isn’t home,’ and closed the door in my face.” “Excellent,” murmured the doctor. “The perfect corroboration. And did you ever ask her what had been wrong?” “She called me up,” De Medici answered, “the next morning, and apologized for the incident. She said she suffered from periodic headaches the pain of which almost drove her beside herself. I had come on her during one of the spells.” “Did she use the word ‘spells’?” Dr. Lytton asked. “I think she did,” De Medici answered.