"Yes, I fully understand and I give you my solemn promise, Strong," said the doctor as the two men rose to go in, that night. "The moment the man is sane I will tell him that he is not to tell me his name, nor anything else until he has heard what I have to say. I will then break it to him—using my own discretion as to how and when—that he was reported dead, that his will was proved, that his widow wore mourning for a year and then married again, and had a son a year later. … I undertake that he shall not leave this house, knowing that, unless he is in the fullest possession of his faculties and able to realise with the utmost clearness all the bearings of the case and all the consequences following his resumption of identity. And I'll let him hide here for just as long as he cares to conceal himself—if he wishes to remain 'dead' for a time."
"Yes … And as I can't possibly stay till he recovers, nor, in fact, over to-morrow without gross dereliction of duty, I will leave a letter for you to give him at the earliest safe moment. … I'll tell him that I am the only living soul who knows his name as well as his secret. He'll understand that no one else will know this—from me."
As he sat on the side of his bed that night, Captain Strong remarked unto his soul, "Well—one thing—if I know Monty Merline as well as I think, 'Sir Montague Merline' died two years ago, whatever happens. … And yet I can't imagine Monty committing suicide, somehow. He's a chap with a conscience as well as the soul of chivalry. … Poor, poor, old Monty Merline! …"
