I saw it clearly, and waited with breathless interest to hear more.

“At odds and ends of time,” Ezra Jennings went on, “I reproduced my shorthand notes, in the ordinary form of writing—­leaving large spaces between the broken phrases, and even the single words, as they had fallen disconnectedly from Mr. Candy’s lips.  I then treated the result thus obtained, on something like the principle which one adopts in putting together a child’s ‘puzzle.’  It is all confusion to begin with; but it may be all brought into order and shape, if you can only find the right way.  Acting on this plan, I filled in each blank space on the paper, with what the words or phrases on either side of it suggested to me as the speaker’s meaning; altering over and over again, until my additions followed naturally on the spoken words which came before them, and fitted naturally into the spoken words which came after them.  The result was, that I not only occupied in this way many vacant and anxious hours, but that I arrived at something which was (as it seemed to me) a confirmation of the theory that I held.  In plainer words, after putting the broken sentences together I found the superior faculty of thinking going on, more or less connectedly, in my patient’s mind, while the inferior faculty of expression was in a state of almost complete incapacity and confusion.”

“One word!” I interposed eagerly.  “Did my name occur in any of his wanderings?”

“You shall hear, Mr. Blake.  Among my written proofs of the assertion which I have just advanced—­or, I ought to say, among the written experiments, tending to put my assertion to the proof—­there is one, in which your name occurs.  For nearly the whole of one night, Mr. Candy’s mind was occupied with something between himself and you.  I have got the broken words, as they dropped from his lips, on one sheet of paper.  And I have got the links of my own discovering which connect those words together, on another sheet of paper.  The product (as the arithmeticians would say) is an intelligible statement—­first, of something actually done in the past; secondly, of something which Mr. Candy contemplated doing in the future, if his illness had not got in the way, and stopped him.  The question is whether this does, or does not, represent the lost recollection which he vainly attempted to find when you called on him this morning?”

“Not a doubt of it!” I answered.  “Let us go back directly, and look at the papers!”

“Quite impossible, Mr. Blake.”

“Why?”

“Put yourself in my position for a moment,” said Ezra Jennings.  “Would you disclose to another person what had dropped unconsciously from the lips of your suffering patient and your helpless friend, without first knowing that there was a necessity to justify you in opening your lips?”

I felt that he was unanswerable, here; but I tried to argue the question, nevertheless.