"He told me it was. It's Marr—and somehow it's him now."
"Marr," said the doctor, sharply. "Why, he is dead. Julian told me so.
He died—he died in the Euston Road on the night of Valentine's trance.
Ah, but you know nothing about that. Did you know Marr, then?"
"Yes, I knew him."
Cuckoo hesitated. But something taught her to be perfectly frank with the doctor. So she added:
"I'd been with him at that hotel the night he died."
"You were the woman! But, then, how can you say that this (he touched the photograph with his finger) is Valentine?"
"He says he's really Marr."
Cuckoo spoke in the most mulish manner, following her habit when she was completely puzzled, but sticking to what she believed to be the truth.
"Marr and Valentine one man! He told you that?"
"He says to me—'I'm Marr.'"