ou, I--oh, it is horrible!"

She turned suddenly.

"When I saw him," she said bitterly, "the sight of him--and the sight of
those marks--broke the spell that held me. I crept from the house as if
I had killed him. They--they will probably find out that I was there,
and they will accuse me of the murder. If does not matter. But this
power--this awful thing that has been controlling me--is there no way
to fight it?"

I nodded heavily. The memory, of that unfortunate fellow who had come to
me with the same complaint was still holding me. I was prepared to wash
my hands of the whole horrible affair. It was clearly not a medical
case, clearly out of my realm.

"There is a way to fight it," I said quietly. "I am a doctor, not a
master of hypnotism, or a man who can discover the reasons behind that
hypnotism. But London has its Scotland Yard, and Scotland Yard has a man
who is one of my greatest comrades...."

She nodded her surrender. As I stepped to the telephone, I heard her
murmur, in a weary, troubled voice:

"Hypnotism? It is not that. God knows what it is. But it has always
happened when I have been alone. One cannot hypnotise through
distance...."

* * * * *

And so, with Margot Vernee's consent, I sought the aid of Inspector
Thomas Drake, of Scotland Yard. In half an hour Drake stood beside me,
the quiet of my study. When he had heard Margot's story, he asked a
single significant question. It was this:

"You say you have a desire to go back to a man who was once intimate
with you. Who is he?"

Margot looked at him dully.

"It is Michael Strange," she said slowly. "Michael Strange, of Paris. A
student of science."

Drake nodded. Without further questioning he dismissed my patient; and
when she had gone, he turned to me.

"She did not murder her sweetheart, Dale" he said. "That is evident.
Have you any idea who did?"

And so I told him of that other young man. Sir John Harmon, who had come
to me the night before. When I had finished. Drake stared at me--stared
through me--and suddenly turned on his heel.

"I shall be back, Dale," he said curtly. "Wait for me!"

* * * * *

Wait for him! Well, that was Drake's peculiar way of going about things.
Impetuous, sudden--until he faced some crisis. Then, in the face of
danger, he became a cold, indifferent officer of Scotland Yard.

And so I waited. During the twenty-four hours that elapsed bef