"It is not so long, Julian," he said. "Only before Valentine's trance."
Julian caught him up quickly.
"Why d'you say that, doctor?"
"Why? Simply because it is truth."
"You're always at that trance. I believe it's just because you told us
not to sit again. But there was no harm done."
"You are sure of that?"
As he put the question the doctor's mind was on a hunt round that sleep
and waking. He had gradually come to think that night a night of some
strange crisis, through which Valentine had passed from what he had
been to what he was. Yet his knowledge could not set at the door of that
unnatural slumber the blame of all that followed it. His imagination
might, but not his knowledge. He wondered whether Julian might not help
him to elucidation.
"Sure? of course! Why not? Valentine's all right. I'm all right. Rip's
the only one gone. And if he'd only stayed in the house that night he'd
be all right too."
"No, Addison."
Julian stared at this flat contradiction.
"Not?"
"Rip never went out of the house."
"But he died in the snow."
"No," the doctor said quietly. "He died in your dining-room, of
fear--fear of his old master, Valentine."
"What?" said Julian, gripping the table with his right hand.
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