IT was after midnight when Ascham left.

His hand on Granice's shoulder, as he turned to go--"District
Attorney be hanged; see a doctor, see a doctor!" he had cried; and
so, with an exaggerated laugh, had pulled on his coat and departed.

Granice turned back into the library. It had never occurred to him
that Ascham would not believe his story. For three hours he had
explained, elucidated, patiently and painfully gone over every
detail--but without once breaking down the iron incredulity of the
lawyer's eye.

At first Ascham had feigned to be convinced--but that, as Granice
now perceived, was simply to get him to expose himself, to entrap
him into contradictions. And when the attempt failed, when Granice
triumphantly met and refuted each disconcerting question, the lawyer
dropped the mask suddenly, and said with a good-humoured laugh: "By
Jove, Granice you'll write a successful play yet. The way you've
worked this all out is a marvel."

Granice swung about furiously--that last sneer about the play
inflamed him. Was all the world in a conspiracy to deride his
failure?

"I did it, I did it," he muttered sullenly, his rage spending itself
against the impenetrable surface of the other's mockery; and Ascham
answered with a smile: "Ever read any of those books on
hallucination? I've got a fairly good medico-legal library. I could