for her. It's a police
matter all right."

"I think _not_," said Doctor Askew, dismissing Conlon from the
conversation. "Have you ever," he then asked me, "seen Miss Blake like
this before?"

I was about to say "No!" with emphasis, when a sudden memory returned
to me--the memory of a queer, crumpled little figure lying on the
concrete incline of the Eureka Garage; curled up there, like an
unearthed cutworm, round a shining dinner-pail. "Yes," I replied
instead; "once--I think."

"You think?"

I sketched the occasion for him and explained all its implications as
clearly and briefly as I could; and while I talked thus across her bed
Susan's eyes did not open; she did not stir. Doctor Askew heard me out,
as I felt, intently, but kept his eye meanwhile--except for a keen
glance or two in my direction--on Susan's face.

"All right," he said, when I had concluded; "that throws more or less
light. There's nothing to worry us, at least, in Miss Blake's condition.
Under psychical trauma--shock--she has a tendency to pass into a trance
state--amounting practically to one of the deeper stages of hypnosis.
She'll come out of it sooner or later--simply wake up--if we leave her
alone. Perhaps, after all, that's the wisest thing for us to do."

On this conclusion he walked away from the bed, as if it ended the
matter, and lit a cigarette.

"Well, Conlon," he grinned, "we're making a night of it, eh? Come, let's
all sit down and talk things over." He seated himself on the end of the
couch as he spoke, lounging back on one elbow and crossing his knees. "I
ought to tell you, Mr. Hunt," he added, "that nervous disorders are my
specialty; more than that, indeed--my life! I studied under Janet in
Paris, and later put in a couple of years as assistant physician in the
Clinic of Psychiatry, Zurich. Did some work, too, at Vienna--with Stekel
and Freud. So I needn't say a problem of this kind is simply meat and
drink to me. I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world!"

I was a little chilled by his words, by an attitude that seemed to me
cold-bloodedly professional; nevertheless, I joined him, drawing up a
chair, and Conlon gradually worked his way toward us, though he remained
standing.

"What I want to know, doc," demanded Conlon, "is why you've changed your
mind?"

"I haven't," Doctor Askew responded. "I can't have, because I haven't
yet formed an opinion. I'm just beginning to--and even that may take me
some time." H