"Well, that was the way it was with this woman. She was Elaine, but she wasn't. There was something about her that didn't belong to Elaine." His brows knitted. "It seemed as if I'd seen her before, somewhere. Just like I'd known her, but couldn't remember just when or where."
A pause.
"It was her clothing that made us notice her, though. She wore a red satin dress with more white ruffles than I ever saw before. She had a red hat, too, with a big plume. Her hair was done in a different style than I've ever seen. All fixed up. And she wore gloves that reached to above her elbow."
He searched his weary mind for more details. Gave it up in despair,
"I don't know, professor. I can't remember any more. She was just like a picture of one of the women attending a Louis XVI ball in France—"
A sudden light sprang into his brown eyes. He stopped short in mid-sentence.
"That's it!" he cried. "I've got it! I know where I saw her before!"
Professor Duchard leaned forward, blue eyes flashing.
"Where?" he demanded. "Hurry, man! Out with it!"