What should he do? Was this the moment to tell him the truth? No, it would be useless. The doctor, believing him to be a brute, was not in a frame of mind to attach credence to his story. The truth was too improbable, a convincing lie could alone save the situation. "My wife and I have not been living together lately," he stammered. "Indeed!" The piercing eyes seemed to grow more piercing, the long upper lip to become longer. "Yes," Crichton hesitated--it is so difficult to invent a plausible story on the spur of the moment. "In fact, I met her quite unexpectedly in Newhaven." "In Newhaven?" "Yes. I have just arrived from France," continued Crichton more fluently. An idea was shaping itself in his mind. "I was most astonished to meet my wife in England as I had been looking for her in Paris for the last week." "I don't understand." "My wife is unfortunately mentally unbalanced. For the last few months she has been confined in an asylum." Crichton spoke with increasing assurance. "Where was this asylum?" "In France." "Yes, but where? France is a big place." "It is called Charleroi and is about thirty miles from Paris in the direction of Fontainebleau." "Who is the director of this institution?" "Dr. Leon Monet." "And you suggest that it was there that she was ill-treated. Let me tell you----" Cyril interrupted him. "I suggest no such thing. My wife escaped from Charleroi over a week ago. We know she went to Paris, but there we lost all trace of her. Imagine my astonishment at finding her on the train this morning. How she got there, I can't think. She seemed very much agitated, but I attributed that to my presence. I have lately had a most unfortunate effect upon her. I did ask her how she got the bruise on her cheek, but she wouldn't tell me. I had no idea she was suffering. If I had been guilty of the condition she is in, is it likely that I should have brought her to a man of your reputation and character? I think that alone proves my innocence." The doctor stared at him fixedly for a few moments as if weighing the credibility of his explanation. "You say that the physician under whose care your wife has been is called Monet?" "Yes, Leon Monet." The doctor left the room abruptly. When he returned, his bearing had completely changed. "I have just verified your statement in a French medical directory and I must apologise to you for having jumped at conclusions in the way I did. Pray, forgive me----" Crichton bowed rather distantly. He didn't feel over-kindly to the man who had forced him into such a quagmire of lies. "Now as to--" Cyril hesitated a moment; he detested calling the girl by his name. "Now--as to--to--the patient. Have you any idea when she is likely to recover consciousness?" "Not the faintest. Of course, what you tell me of her mental condition increases the seriousness of the case. With hysterical cases anything and everything is possible." "But you do not fear the--worst."