"How has he passed the night?" I asked.
"Saying his prayers, and looking for ghosts," Rigobert answered. "A lunatic asylum is the only proper place for him."
I approached the bedside. "Well, Francis, here you are, safe and sound, in spite of what you said to me last night."
His eyes rested on mine with a vacant, wondering look.
"I don't understand it," he said.
"Did you see anything of your wife when the clock struck two?"
"No, sir."
"Did anything happen?"
"Nothing happened, sir."
"Doesn't this satisfy you that you were wrong?"