My memory went back to the narrative of the poor devil in the Cape Town hospital. Boyce's description of the general phenomenon was a deadly corroboration of Somers's account of the individual case. They had used the same word--"paralysed." Boyce had made a fierce and definite apologia for the very act of which Somers had accused him. He put it down to the sudden epilepsy of fear for which a man was irresponsible. Somers's story had never seemed so convincing--the first part of it, at least--the part relating to the paralysis of terror. But the second part--the account of the diabolical ingenuity by means of which Boyce rehabilitated himself--instead of blowing his brains out like a gentleman--still hammered at the gates of my credulity. Well--granted the whole thing was true--why revive it after fifteen years' dead silence, and all of a sudden, just on account of an idle question? Even in South Africa, his "mention" had proved his courage. Now, with the D. S. O. a mere matter of gazetting, it was established beyond dispute. On the other hand, if the Vilboek story, more especially the second part, was true, what reparation could he make in the eyes of honourable men?--in his own eyes, if he himself had succeeded to the status of an honourable man? Would not any decent soldier smite him across the face instead of grasping him by the hand? I was profoundly worried. Moreover Betty, level-headed Betty, had called him a devil. Why? If the second part of Somers's story were true, he had acted like a devil. There is no other word for it. Now, what concrete diabolical facts did Betty know? Or had her instinctive feminine insight pierced through the man's outer charm and merely perceived horns, tail, and cloven hoof cast like a shadow over his soul? How was I to know?