“I don’t see it,” said the savant impatiently.
“That’s always the way with you great scientists! But—it’s simple,” declared Raoul, a note of triumph in his voice; “absolutely simple—if you know David as well as I do.”
“I said that you probably know him better. I have not known him as long or as intimately as you have. But—again I fail to see what psychology has to do with it.”
“It has everything to do with it. David was not spirited away, as you seem to imagine. He disappeared of his own accord.”
“There is every reason to think the contrary,” said Leighton contemptuously.
“Oh, of course I may be wrong in my theory. But, as there is no other evidence, I see only one solution. It’s the clew we are after, you know—and the clew is right under your nose.”
“Perhaps you are on the wrong scent. Some investigators have a knack of being cocksure about everything. But—explain your meaning.”
“Very well. Let’s talk as one psychologist to another, then. Meudon has a peculiar temperament. You probably know that. But you may not know that the dual personality is highly developed in him. Under strong, sudden excitement this personality becomes greatly exaggerated.”
“He was laboring under no particular excitement at the time of his disappearance,” objected Leighton.
“What about the mission he was on? I have an idea that it was of absorbing importance to him. Remember, he was revisiting scenes connected with an episode that for some years he has been trying to forget but which he now wants to revive. And then, to cap the climax, suddenly he comes, slap bang, right into the midst of a rabble of peons who would be only too glad to kill him, or imprison him, or torture him—or anything else unpleasant. The same crowd tried to get me once, so I know what it all means.”