would account for all these different and contradictory effects?  No! the more I think of this form of the dilemma, the more I am bewildered!  Why, even if it were that the attack, the physical attack, on Mr. Trelawny had been made by some one residing in the house and not within the sphere of suspicion, the oddness of the stupefyings would still remain a mystery.  It is not easy to put anyone into a catalepsy.  Indeed, so far as is known yet in science, there is no way to achieve such an object at will.  The crux of the whole matter is Miss Trelawny, who seems to be subject to none of the influences, or possibly of the variants of the same influence at work.  Through all she goes unscathed, except for that one slight semi-faint.  It is most strange!”

I listened with a sinking heart; for, though his manner was not illuminative of distrust, his argument was disturbing.  Although it was not so direct as the suspicion of the Detective, it seemed to single out Miss Trelawny as different from all others concerned; and in a mystery to be alone is to be suspected, ultimately if not immediately.  I thought it better not to say anything.  In such a case silence is indeed golden; and if I said nothing now I might have less to defend, or explain, or take back later.  I was, therefore, secretly glad that his form of putting his argument did not require any answer from me—­for the present, at all events.  Doctor Winchester did not seem to expect any answer—­a fact which, when I recognised it, gave my pleasure, I hardly knew why.  He paused for a while, sitting with his chin in his hand, his eyes staring at vacancy, whilst his brows were fixed.  His cigar was held limp between his fingers; he had apparently forgotten it.  In an even voice, as though commencing exactly where he had left off, he resumed his argument: 

“The other horn of the dilemma is a different affair altogether; and if we once enter on it we must leave everything in the shape of science and experience behind us.  I confess that it has its fascinations for me; though at every new thought I find myself romancing in a way that makes me pull up suddenly and look facts resolutely in the face.  I sometimes wonder whether the influence or emanation from the sick-room at times affects me as it did the others—­the Detective, for instance.  Of course it may be that if it is anything chemical, any drug, for example, in vaporeal form, its effects may be cumulative.  But then, what could there be that could produce such an effect?  The room is, I know, full of mummy smell; and no wonder, with so many relics from the tomb, let alone the actual mummy of that animal which Silvio attacked.  By the way, I am going to test him tomorrow; I have been on the trace of a mummy cat, and am to get possession of it in the morning.  When I bring it here we shall find out if it be a fact that racial instinct can survive a few thousand years in the grave.  However, to get back to the