she would serve you with a writ of confiscation if she knew you had it."
"The fact is," Von Blon returned, "I once took her a bottle, and she gave it to Chester. She doesn't care for wine. I remember my father's telling me she objected violently to her husband's well-stocked cellar."
"Your father died, did he not, before Mrs. Greene became paralyzed?" Vance asked incuriously.
"Yes—about a year."
"And was yours the only diagnosis made of her case?"
Von Blon looked at him with an air of gentle surprise.
"Yes. I saw no necessity of calling in any of the bigwigs. The symptoms were clear-cut and conformed with the anamnesis. Furthermore, everything since then has confirmed my diagnosis."
"And yet, doctor"—Vance spoke with great deference—"something has occurred which, from the layman's point of view, tends to cast doubt on the accuracy of that diagnosis. Therefore, I feel sure you will forgive me when I ask you quite frankly if it would not be possible to place another, and perhaps less serious, interpretation on Mrs. Greene's invalidism."
Von Blon appeared greatly puzzled.
"There is," he said, "not the slightest possibility that Mrs. Greene is suffering from any disease other than an organic paralysis of both legs—a paraplegia, in fact, of the entire lower part of the body."
"If you were to see Mrs. Greene move her legs, what would be your mental reaction?"
