“Flash, you must be out of your mind,” Doyle said anxiously. “Rascomb wouldn’t strike you. As for his being Albert Povy, that’s ridiculous! Povy was killed in the train wreck.”
“Oh, no, he wasn’t,” Flash denied. “He merely found it convenient to give out that impression. Povy and Rascomb are the same person, and you must have known it!”
“Sit down and try to calm yourself,” Doyle said solicitously. “You’ve gone through a terrible ordeal tonight. You’re pretty confused.”
“So that’s your defense? You accuse me of being out of my head?”
“Don’t you know what really happened?” Doyle asked patiently.
“Suppose you tell me. I’m sure you’ve thought up an interesting little fairy tale!”
“You and Rascomb were in the boat when it suddenly upset. Rascomb was so busy trying to rescue the oars and the cans of film he didn’t worry about you for a minute. When he looked around, you had disappeared beneath the surface. Then he yelled to me for help.”
“And you saw the boat upset?”
“Well, no, I didn’t,” Doyle admitted. “I was taking pictures. The truth is, I had no idea anything was wrong until Rascomb called to me. Then it was too late to do anything.”
“And what happened next?” Flash demanded. “Go on with the yarn.”