“My young friend,” he said soothingly, “you say you have been robbed.  Please explain yourself.  There is no one in this house who would rob you.”

Ray searched the man’s face with eager, curious eyes.  Then he shook off his hand with an impatient movement.

“Explain myself!” he repeated hotly.  “I have had a small fortune stolen from me, and I believe that you are an accomplice in the transaction.”

“No, no; I assure you I am not,” returned the gentleman gravely, and exactly as he would have addressed a person whom he believed to be perfectly sane.  “I was told that a caller wished to see me, and I find a man claiming that he has been robbed in my house.  What do you mean?  Tell me, and perhaps I can help you in your emergency.”

The young man was impressed by his courteous manner, in spite of his suspicions, and striving to curb his excitement, he gave him a brief explanation of what had occurred.

His account tallied so exactly with the statements of his visitor of the previous day that Doctor Wesselhoff became more and more interested in the singular case, and was convinced that his patient was indeed afflicted with a peculiar monomania.

“Who was this woman?” he inquired, to gain time, while he should consider what course to pursue with his patient.

“I do not know—­she was an utter stranger to me—­never saw her before.  She called herself Mrs. Vanderbeck.”

That was the name of the “sister” whom Mrs. Walton had told him she would send with her son, so the celebrated physician had no suspicion of foul play.

“And who are you?” he asked, searching the fine face before him with increasing interest.

“My name is Palmer,” Ray answered.  “I am the son of Amos Palmer, a jeweler of this city.”

Doctor Wesselhoff glanced keenly at him, while he thought that, if he was mad, there was certainly method in his madness to make him deny his own name, and claim to be some one else.

The physician had always been a profound student, he was thoroughly in love with his profession, devoting all his time and energies to it, consequently he was not posted regarding the jewelers of New York, or, indeed, business firms of any kind, fore he did not know Amos Palmer—­if indeed there was such a man—­from any other dealer in the vanities of the world.

He firmly believed the young man before him to be a monomaniac of an unusual type, although he could plainly see that, naturally, he was a person of no ordinary character and intelligence.

“I regret very much that you should find yourself in such deep trouble,” he remarked in his calm, dignified manner, “and if you have been decoyed here in the way you claim, you are certainly the victim of a very clever plot.  Perhaps I can help you, however; just come this way with me.  I will order my carriage, for of course you must act quickly, and we will try our best to relieve you in this unpleasant predicament.”