Chassaigne met his glance, hesitated.
“It is—perhaps—possible,” he said, slowly. He went up to his friend, put his hand on his shoulder, drew him to a chair. “Sit down, my dear fellow. Let us be calm and think this out. If you are right—if this young woman is indeed your—your friend—your suggestion might perhaps be the key to the enigma. But we shall achieve nothing by getting excited.”
Vincent allowed himself to be gently forced into the chair. He looked white and ill, thoroughly shaken. His friend, contemplating him, was impressed by his appearance. Could such a shock be produced by a merely imagined resemblance? He felt that it could not—and then those three moles! His mind reverted to the young woman, to her indubitably genuine non-recognition, and he felt more than ever puzzled. With a quiet deliberation he drew up a chair and seated himself close to his comrade.
“Now let us analyze this problem,” he said. He spoke in a calm, consulting-room voice which eliminated in advance all emotion from the discussion.
Vincent looked up, his eyes miserable.
“Have you ever known of such a case?”
“Of a personality permanently changed? No.”
“Is it hypothetically possible?”
“Hypothetically—yes.”
“By hypnotism?”