“Alone?”
“Raoul Arthur was with me. He was bending over me, his eyes fixed on mine, making passes with his hand before my face.”
“You were in a hypnotic trance.”
“I was coming out of one apparently.”
“It would be hard to define your condition. Of course, after the explosion you had been picked up and carried to this house in Bogota, where you had remained, suffering from a severe nervous shock—perhaps concussion of the brain—for three months.”
“I had been in that house scarcely an hour before my memory was suddenly revived.”
“How do you know that?” demanded Leighton sharply.
“The rainy season was on in August in Bogota. I found myself in my riding dress. My rubber poncho, dripping with rain, was on the floor. My boots, the spurs still attached to the heels, were caked with mud.”
“And Arthur told you——?”
“At first, I was bewildered, as one is when suddenly aroused from a long sleep. With full return of consciousness, I asked Raoul how I came to be there. He said he didn’t know.”