“I WENT first to Mannheim, Lady Janet, as I told you I should in my letter, and I heard all that the consul and the hospital doctors could tell me. No new fact of the slightest importance turned up. I got my directions for finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what I could make next of the man who performed the operation. On the question of his patient’s identity he had (as a perfect stranger to her) nothing to tell me. On the question of her mental condition, however, he made a very important statement. He owned to me that he had operated on another person injured by a shell-wound on the head at the battle of Solferino, and that the patient (recovering also in this case) recovered — mad. That is a remarkable admission; don’t you think so?”

Lady Janet’s temper had hardly been allowed time enough to subside to its customary level.

“Very remarkable, I dare say,” she answered, “to people who feel any doubt of this pitiable lady of yours being mad. I feel no doubt — and, thus far, I find your account of yourself, Julian, tiresome in the extreme. Go on to the end. Did you lay your hand on Mercy Merrick?”

“No.”

“Did you hear anything of her?”

“Nothing. Difficulties beset me on every side. The French ambulance had shared in the disasters of France — it was broken up. The wounded Frenchmen were prisoners somewhere in Germany, nobody knew where. The French surgeon had been killed in action. His assistants were scattered — most likely in hiding. I began to despair of making any discovery, when accident threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had been in the French cottage. They confirmed what the German surgeon told the consul, and what Horace himself told me— namely, that no nurse in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there had been such a person, she would certainly (the Prussians inform me) have been found in attendance on the injured Frenchmen. The cross of the Geneva Convention would have been amply sufficient to protect her: no woman wearing that badge of honor would have disgraced herself by abandoning the wounded men before the Germans entered the place.”

“In short,” interposed Lady Janet, “there is no such person as Mercy Merrick.”

“I can draw no other conclusion,” said Julian, “unless the English doctor’s idea is the right one. After hearing what I have just told you, he thinks the woman herself is Mercy Merrick.”

Lady Janet held up her hand as a sign that she had an objection to make here.

“You and the doctor seem to have settled everything to your entire satisfaction on both sides,” she said. “But there is one difficulty that you have neither of you accounted for yet.”

“What is it, aunt?”

“You talk glibly enough, Julian, about this woman’s mad assertion that Grace is the missing nurse, and that she is Grace. But you have not explained yet how the idea first got into her head; and, more than that, how it is that she is acquainted with my name and address, and perfectly familiar with Grace’s papers and Grace’s affairs. These things are a puzzle to a person of my average intelligence. Can your clever friend, the doctor, account for them?”

“Shall I tell you what he said when I saw him this morning?”

“Will it take long?”

“It will take about a minute.”

“You agreeably surprise me. Go on.”

“You want to know how she gained her knowledge of your name and of Miss Roseberry’s affairs,” Julian resumed. “The doctor says in one of two ways. Either Miss Roseberry must have spoken of you and of her own affairs while she and the stranger were together in the French cottage, or the stranger must have obtained access privately to Miss Roseberry’s papers. Do you agree so far?”

Lady Janet began to feel interested for the first time.

“Perfectly,” she said. “I have no doubt Grace rashly talked of matters which an older and wiser person would have kept to herself.”

“Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman’s mind when she was struck by the shell might have been (quite probably) the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity and Miss Roseberry’s affairs? You think it likely enough? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman is brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in the hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. In that form it still remains. As a necessary consequence, she persists in reversing the two identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor ‘s explanation. What do you think of it?”

“Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn’t quite satisfy me, however, for all that. I think —”

What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She suddenly checked herself, and held up her hand for the second time.

“Another objection?” inquired Julian.

“Hold your tongue!” cried the old lady. “If you say a word more I shall lose it again.”

“Lose what, aunt?”

“What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back again — it begins with a question. (No more of the doctor — I have had enough of him!) Where is she —your pitiable lady, my crazy wretch — where is she now? Still in London?”

“Yes.”

“And still at large?”

“Still with the landlady, at her lodgings.”

“Very well. Now answer me this! What is to prevent her from making another attempt to force her way (or steal her way) into my house? How am I to protect Grace, how am I to protect myself, if she comes here again?”

“Is that really what you wished to speak to me about?”

“That, and nothing else.”

They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their conversation to look toward the conservatory, and to notice the appearance at that moment of a distant gentleman among the plants and flowers, who had made his way in from the garden outside. Advancing noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, the gentleman ere long revealed himself under the form and featu............