For answer I seized first one hand and then the other. On neither appeared the least scratch. Yet the man whom I believed to be Francis had a ragged wound on the right hand. My theory of a trance vanished into thin air at this proof that the men were distinct. Astounded by my action, Felix drew back in some alarm.
"How strangely you act, Denham," he said uneasily. "Is there anything wrong?"
"Do you think I am mad?" I asked irritably.
"Your action just now was scarcely the act of a sane person. Why did you examine my hands?"
"To see if they were cut in any way."
He turned the palms of his hands toward me, and shook his head with a slight laugh.
"You see," he said, smiling, "they are absolutely free from cut or wound. Why do you expect them to be marred?"
I made no reply, but passed my hand across my brow. The situation in which I found myself was so strange and embarrassing that I did not know how to proceed. In the presence of facts I could not but admit that my story would sound but a wild invention.
"Come, Denham," said Briarfield soothingly, "you are doubtless in some trouble, and have come to me for help and advice. I'll give both to the best of my ability."
"I want neither," I muttered in a low voice; "but if you will answer some questions I wish to ask, you will oblige me greatly."