“Well,” he smiled, “I can tell you the story now. We have to deal, as I surmised from the first, with a most fascinating case of dissociation, commonly called dual personality.” De Medici smiled. Then it was Florence, and the doctor had proved her guilt. Obtained a confession, his telegram had announced. The man, for all his cleverness, was an ass. He had managed to bungle everything as idiotically as had Norton. But as he stood, aware that he was sneering at his friend, a new twist entered his thought. As the doctor started talking, the idea had flashed through De Medici’s mind.... “Quite right. Florence. It might have been she. And the creature with the dagger last night might have been I. Innocent of Ballau’s murder, constant fear of my possible guilt may have resulted in the creation of the dagger phantom as an alibi—an unnecessary alibi.” Dr. Lytton, supremely satisfied with himself and oblivious to the changes of expression in his friend’s manner, was proceeding in the professorial manner he assumed when expounding indisputable truths and unalterable facts. “I want to point out to you first,” he announced, “the fact that the obvious, although frequently open to doubt, is nevertheless not to be dismissed. It is a common fallacy of people engaged in the solution of mysteries or more scientific problems to flout the obvious and to search for the secret in things hidden from the cursory eye. It was this fact which led us somewhat astray for a while.” “I am in no mood for a Freshman lecture on psychology,” De Medici interrupted calmly. “I’ll tell the thing in my own way,” Dr. Lytton smiled. “Very well.” De Medici shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll listen to what is pertinent and ignore the rest.” “You can listen or not as you please, my dear Julien. But I advise you first to relax. You look as white as a ghost, and have been standing there for almost fifteen minutes talking to yourself like a lunatic. There’s nothing to be gained by experimenting with your nerves. I’ve told you that before.” “You went to Rollo,” De Medici murmured. “Excellent,” the doctor laughed. “I went to Rollo, Maine. And I’ll pass over the various details that led me to the conclusion that Floria was to be found in Rollo.” “Thanks.” “I arrived there around three in the morning,” the doctor continued unperturbed. “An abominable place. One rustic hotel. And it was closed. While you were sleeping peacefully in your bed, my dear Julien, I was parading the dark, chill streets of Rollo, Maine, in quest of comfort, clews and companionship.” “While I slept comfortably in my bed,” smiled De Medici. “What’s wrong?” Dr. Lytton asked abruptly. “Nothing. Go on. You are in Rollo. The streets are dark and chill. And you search for clews.” “I see. You are prepared to flout my story.” “I’m listening, Hugo.”