‘Mein Herr, I would not attempt such a thing, save as a last resort. If Nature can do her work alone, be sure she will do it best herself, and in her own way, and at her own time. Do you know the secret of my success in my profession? Simply this, that I study Nature closely, and let her alone whenever it is possible. If she cannot work unassisted, I give her what assistance lies in my power; but I never interfere with her unless I am obliged. Nature will cure your friend in due course if she has her way. My part is to stand by and see fair play, that is all.’ Tor pulled at his moustache, and considered. ‘Well, doctor,’ he said at length, ‘you know your own business best, of course, and I must leave the matter in your hands. You lay me under a great obligation by undertaking the case. Will you grant me one favour more? The moment you see any sign of returning consciousness will you telegraph to me? I am most anxious to be with my friend when he comes to himself. I will travel night and day to secure that object.’ The little doctor rubbed his hands together—his favourite gesture when in any doubt—and smiled benignantly upon his young English friend. ‘Mein Herr, I will do all I can to facilitate your wishes; but you know it is quite possible your friend may recover his faculties quite suddenly—in an hour—in a moment of time. No one can say how it will be in such cases; whether recovery will come by slow degrees or like a lightning-flash. If possible, I will give you due warning; in any case, you will be immediately summoned; but that you can be with him at the moment of his recovery no one can promise.’ ‘Oh, he may come to himself any minute, may he?’ mused Tor half aloud; and a momentary expression of perplexity crossed his face. It cleared away quickly, however, and the young man turned to the doctor with a frank smile. ‘In that case, doctor, I will mention to you rather a curious thing that happened a few months back, when my friend was seized with cramp whilst bathing, and became unconscious before I could get him to shore. When he came to himself he was completely confused for several hours as to his own identity and mine. He could not rid himself of the notion that he was Philip Debenham—myself, that is; whilst I was, he declared, Torrington Torwood, which is, as you know, his own name. I do not know, of course, whether he would do the same thing again after a prolonged period of unconsciousness; but in case he should wake up under the strange conviction that he is Philip Debenham, and inquire anxiously for his friend Torwood, you will know better what to make of it.’ ‘Quite so, quite so; a most unusual phase; a most interesting circumstance. Mr. Debenham, your friend shall receive every care I can bestow upon him. His brain interests me much. Confusion of identity! A most remarkable thing!’