“I can’t make very much of it. But _he_ did. It had some meaning for _him_. And it was because he thought I had hit on the truth that he looked like that. It has something to do with his shadow. I noticed once or twice before, when I saw him out walking, that he kept looking at something――something which seemed to me not to be there....” The doctor grunted; he felt dissatisfied. “What was it you found in his bedroom?” he asked. “An address for you to write to――to make inquiries.” They walked along in silence for a little way, Palmer from time to time glancing uncertainly at his companion. The road was deserted, and the high hedges, black in the still moonlight, seemed to shut them in. A freshening breeze filled the night with murmuring sound, and blew the scent of honeysuckle in their faces. “Do you think it is rotten――all I have done?” The doctor started out of a train of uncomfortable cogitation. “No, no; certainly not. I think it very possible you may have averted some――some disaster.” “You didn’t like it, all the same――when we first went in,” said Palmer despondently. The doctor forced a laugh. “Oh, well――perhaps not. You see, a person suffering from delusions isn’t exactly a criminal. And then, it was all――rather outside my experience.” Palmer was silent a moment. Then he said in a low voice, “But you don’t think I’d do that kind of thing without a very good reason, do you?” “Of course not.” “I wouldn’t, you know,” said the boy eagerly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He laid a friendly hand on Palmer’s shoulder.