“What an idea . . . And yet, who knows? I’d like to have your opinion about this: Do you regard an hallucination as a conclusive symptom?”
Austin could not suppress an exclamation.
“An hallucination? You, sir!”
“I saw it as clearly as I can see you now. I happened to be reading through his reports at the time. And is it surprising that he should be thus incarnated in these pages? I tell you, his essentials are all there. The phantom that appeared to me was infinitely more consistent than his material self.
“I’ll make a clean breast of it. When it rose up before me, I was terrified for a moment. No one in this country has been fond of ghosts since Shakespeare, not even specialists in mental diseases; and I was appalled, horrified, at the thought of having to render him an account.”
Austin noticed with increasing stupefaction that the doctor’s voice, as he uttered these last words, betrayed something closely akin to emotion.
He held his breath, convinced that he was about to hear some deep secrets, but Dr. Fog managed simultaneously to recover his self-possession and control over his voice.
“My fears were groundless, my anxiety childish. All the ghost said was, ‘Thank you.’ I don’t think I’ve ever felt such professional satisfaction, and also such relief. . . . No, Austin, I could never have survived an error of diagnosis!”
THE END