“You were very harsh, sir,” reproached Herrick.
“It was the best thing for you and for Mrs. Wells,” answered Dr. Owen, bending over his patient, who lay there with dark-circled eyes closed, oblivious to her surroundings. “At least I have no doubt as to her sincerity, I mean as to the genuineness of this shock.”
The doctor was sorely perplexed as he faced this situation. What was his duty? Here was a definite charge of extreme gravity made against a young man of unimpeachable character by the very last person in the world who would naturally make such an accusation, that is the woman who loved him. Must he assume that the patient's mind was affected? The idea that Christopher Herrick could be capable of a treasonable act was altogether preposterous, a thing that Owen rejected indignantly, yet there was the evidence of his own senses. Penelope had written those letters that were not known to anyone except Herrick and himself? And she knew what they meant. How did she know? Was it possible Chris had told her?
But, even so, why had Penelope betrayed and denounced her lover?
At this moment Seraphine turned to the doctor in gentle appeal.
“Don't you see what the explanation is?” she whispered with eloquent eyes.
“It seems to be a case of dual personality,” he answered.
“It's more than that, doctor.”
The scientist moved impatiently, then, remembering what he had seen at Seraphine's apartment, and the recovery of his wife's jewels, he softened the skepticism of his tone.
“You think it is one of those cases you told me about of—possession? That's absurd!”