“I did not,” he answered drily. “A newspaper account of the accident gave me the clue I needed. According to this account, you were killed in the mine explosion, and no trace of your body or clothing was found. It was long afterwards, in Arthur’s report, that your reappearance, under peculiar circumstances, was described. Since then I have learned of your travels. But I have noticed that you always avoid any reference to your South American experiences. So, I appealed to the psychometer.”
Leighton, absorbed in his notes, was apparently unaware of the eagerness with which David followed his explanation.
“It’s all very simple,” mused the young man. “And yet, it seemed like necromancy.”
“Science is not necromancy.”
“But the report,” urged David; “I didn’t know Raoul had written a report.”
“You know he is a psychologist, a hypnotist?”
“Yes,” was the answer, with something of a shudder. “But—why all this elaborate experiment of yours?”
“To prove a theory—and to be certain about you.”
“Why?”
“What a question! You expect to marry Una. Before your marriage takes place—if it does take place—I wish to clear up whatever mystery there is hanging over your past.”