“Dizziness,” he answered laconically.
“A rather interesting case,” the doctor looked at him speculatively. “Fear, eh? Morbid and illogical fear. Hm. Nothing simpler. Phobias are easy to trace. You fainted. Fainting is an escape from overwhelming impulses that are repugnant to the conscious mind. You had an impulse....”
De Medici smiled.
“He prowls around like a blind weasel,” he mused as the scientist talked.
“Yes. Obvious. Why not discuss it?” Dr. Lytton was saying. “Such things must be considered impersonally. Your impulse was to murder me, Julien. Darkness, candles, long velvet curtains—these things fascinate you because they are symbols of desires that hide in you.”
De Medici shrugged his shoulders.
“Here we are,” he spoke as the cab stopped before a lighted building.
They entered the police station arm in arm. De Medici’s legs still felt weak. A man in police uniform conducted them to Lieutenant Norton’s office. The lieutenant rose to greet them. De Medici noted the look of triumph which kindled his eyes.
“Well, come right in,” cried the detective exuberantly. “Glad to see you, Mr. De Medici.”
He nodded somewhat less enthusiastically at the stocky figure of Dr. Lytton.