"Mrs. Cranston," he replied, "is suffering from what the
psychanalysts call a psychic trauma--a soul-wound, as it were. It
is the neglect, in this case, of her husband, whom she deeply
loves. That, in itself, is sufficient to explain her experience
wandering through the country. It was the region which she
associated with her first love-affair, as she told us. The wave of
recollection that swept over her engulfed her mind. In other
words, reason could no longer dominate the cravings for a love so
long suppressed. Then, when she saw, or imagined she saw, one who
looked like her lover the strain was too great."

It was the middle of the afternoon when we reached the laboratory.
Kennedy at once set to work studying the drops of tonic which had
been absorbed in the handkerchief. As Kennedy worked, I began
thinking over again of what we had seen at the Belleclaire
Sanatorium. Somehow or other, I could not get out of my mind the
recollection of the man rolled in the blanket and trussed up as
helpless as a mummy. I wondered whether that alone was sufficient
to account for the quickness with which he had been pacified. Then
I recalled Mrs. Cranston's remark about her mental alertness and
physical weakness. Had it anything to do with the "tonic"?

"Suppose, while I am waiting," I finally suggested to Craig, "I
try to find out what Cranston does with his time since his wife
has been shut off from the world."

"That's a very good idea," acquiesced Kennedy. "Don't take too
long, however, for I may strike something important here any
minute."