"You told us that your name was Henry Aitken, and that you lived mostly in Italy--at some place near Rome. We have made inquiries by telegraph of a number of people whom you have mentioned, but all their replies have been in the negative," said the police official. "Well, I am now entirely in possession of my full senses," I declared. "But how I got to France I have not the slightest knowledge. I lost consciousness in a house in Stretton Street, in London. Since then I have known nothing--until yesterday." "In what circumstances did you lapse into unconsciousness?" asked the doctor, looking intently at me through his glasses, for mine was no doubt an extremely interesting case. "What do you remember? Did you receive any sudden shock?" I explained that being on a visit to a friend--as I designated Oswald De Gex--his niece died very suddenly. And after that I became unconscious. The Prefect of Police naturally became very inquisitive, but I preferred not to satisfy his curiosity. My intention was to return to London and demand from De Gex a full explanation of what had actually occurred on that fatal night. I was full of suspicion regarding the sudden death of his niece, Gabrielle Engledue. The police official told me that from my clothes all the tabs bearing the tailor's name had been removed, and also the laundry marks from my underclothes. There was nothing upon me that could possibly establish my identity, though in my pocket was found five thousand pounds in bank notes--which he handed to me. They were intact--the same notes which De Gex has given me in return for the false death certificate I had signed. I sat utterly aghast at the story of my discovery, of the many attempts made to establish my identity, of the visit of the British Vice-Consul to the hospital, and of his kindness towards me. It seemed that he had questioned me closely, but I had told an utterly fantastic story. Indeed, as I sat there, I felt that neither of my three interrogators believed a single word of the truth I related. Yet, after all, I was not revealing the whole truth. Certain recollections which I would have forgotten came to me. I had, I knew, committed a very serious criminal offence in posing as a medical man and giving that death certificate. Possibly I had been an accessory to some great crime--the crime of murder! That thought held me anxious and filled me with fear. The Prefect of Police seemed entirely dissatisfied with my explanation, nevertheless he was compelled to accept it, and an hour later I was released from the hospital. Before leaving, however, I was shown the register in which I had signed my name as "Henry Aitken." This I erased and substituted my own name. Then I thanked the tall, thin director and walked out into the streets of St. Malo a changed man. CHAPTER THE THIRD WHO WAS GABRIELLE ENGLEDUE?