"Argument in such a case is, of course, useless," said Utis, "seeing that the evidence of your senses is rejected. You have stated your conviction: I will now lay before you the reality as it appears to me. You can then judge for yourself. Not to clash too violently with your present convictions, I will speak in the third person of him whose name you bear."
"One moment," said I. "I bear, as you say, the name of Ismar Thiusen among those to whom you have introduced me under that name. But have you always known me by that name?"
"As I never saw you till this morning," said Utis, with an amused smile, "it is not difficult for me to answer in the affirmative."
At these words I began almost to doubt my own identity or sanity. It was impossible for me to suspect my host's sincerity. Yet how reconcile this with the evidence of my whole recollection of the past? At first I knew not what to say further. Then occurred to me what seemed a crucial question.
"How, then, if you met me to-day for the first time, can you have any assurance that I am the person known as Ismar Thiusen?"
"A person may be known in many ways, though never seen," was the reply. "As the only son of the dearest friend of my youth, Ismar Thiusen has been known to me from childhood, in portrait, by correspondence, and by voice. The Ismar I met this morning is, in every feature, the exact counterpart of the portraits I can show you down-stairs: they form, as you will see, an unbroken series from his very infancy. His voice, too,
