"Well, you see, you made a mistake! Francis is at Marshminster, and I am here, I suppose," he added jokingly. "You are quite convinced that I am Felix?" "I was quite convinced the other man was Francis." "Great Heavens, man, you surely don't doubt that I am Felix Briarfield?" he cried irritably, rising to his feet. "I don't! I can't!" "Perhaps you thought it was I whom you met at the inn?" "No! because the man I met at the inn is dead. Besides, he had a wound on his right hand, and you have not." "It's a queer business altogether," said Briarfield, walking to and fro. "I cannot but agree with your idea of hallucination." "I tell you it is too real for hallucination." "Then how can you explain it?" he demanded sharply, pausing before me. "I can't explain it!" I replied helplessly. "If you had discovered the corpse when you returned to the inn, there might be some chance of solving the mystery. But you admit there was no corpse there!" "Not the vestige of one." "Then that proves the thing to be hallucination," he said triumphantly. "If the man was murdered, who would take the trouble to remove the corpse?" "Strent might have done so to conceal the evidence of his crime." "He fled the previous night by your own acknowledgment. The whole thing is ridiculous. If I were you, Denham, I would see a doctor. That brain of yours is in a dangerous state." "In spite of all you say, I am certain it was Francis I met at the inn." "How can that be when he whom you met is dead and Francis is alive? It could not be Francis, and, as I have not been out of Paris, it could not have been me." "Then who was it?" "Some stranger, no doubt, in whom you saw a facial resemblance to us." "Impossible!" "So I think," said Briarfield significantly; "for my part I think you are subject to delusions. Do not pursue this case, my friend, or you may find yourself in a lunatic asylum!" "Will you come over to Marshminster and help me to solve the mystery?" "Certainly not, Denham. My plans are all made for Italy, and I go there to-morrow. I certainly don't intend to put them off for such a wildgoose chase as you wish me to indulge in." I took up my hat and prepared to go. The matter was beyond my comprehension. "There is nothing for me but to return to England." "Do!" said Briarfield in a pitying tone; "and give up following this Will-o'-the-wisp." "It seems hopeless enough." "Well, so far as I can see, it seems madness. Nothing more nor less. My brother Francis is at Marshminster, you see me here, so it is absolutely impossible you could have met either of us at that inn. The more so as the man you met is dead, and we are both alive." "Yes! Facts are too strong for me," I said, holding out my hand. "Good-by, Briarfield. Many thanks for your kindness; but, oh, man!" I added, with a burst of bitterness, "what does it all mean?" "It's hallucination," said Briarfield; "place yourself at once in the hands of a doctor."