‘Well, sir, there are the…’ Booth searched about helplessly… ‘the records in the administrative department. And the case notes.’

Dr Mellinger shook his head with a scornful flourish. ‘My dear Booth, you are speaking of mere pieces of paper. These are not proof of a man’s identity. A typewriter will invent anything you choose. The only conclusive proof is his physical existence in time and space or, failing that, a distinct memory of his tangible physical presence. Can you honestly say that either of these conditions is fulfilled?’

‘No, sir. I suppose I can’t. Though I did speak to a patient whom I assumed to be Hinton,’

‘But was he?’ The Director’s voice was resonant and urgent. ‘Search your mind, Booth; be honest with yourself. Was it perhaps another patient to whom you spoke? What doctor ever really looks at his patients? In all probability you merely saw Hinton’s name on a list and assumed that he sat before you, an intact physical existence like your own.’

There was a knock upon the door. Dr Normand stepped into the office. ‘Good afternoon, Director.’

‘Ah, Normand. Do come in. Dr Booth and I have been having a most instructive conversation. I really believe we have found a solution to the mystery of Hinton’s disappearance.’

Dr Normand nodded cautiously. ‘I am most relieved, sir. I was beginning to wonder whether we should inform the civil authorities. It is now nearly forty-eight hours since..

‘My dear Normand, I am afraid you are rather out of touch. Our whole attitude to the Hinton case has changed radically. Dr Booth has been so helpful to me. We have been discussing the possibility that an administrative post might be found for him. You have the Hinton file?’

‘Er, I regret not, sir,’ Normand apologized, his eyes moving from Booth to the Director. ‘I gather it’s been temporarily displaced. I’ve instituted a thorough search and it will be brought to you as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you, Normand, if you would.’ Mellinger took Booth by the arm and led him to the door. ‘Now, Doctor, I am most gratified by your perceptiveness. I want you to question your ward staff in the way I have questioned you. Strike through the mists of illusion and false assumption that swirl about their minds. Warn them of those illusions compounded on illusions which can assume the guise of reality. Remind them, too, that clear minds are required at Green Hill. I will be most surprised if any one of them can put her hand on her heart and swear that Hinton really existed.’

After Booth had made his exit, Dr Mellinger returned to his desk. For a moment he failed to notice his deputy.

‘Ah, yes, Normand. I wonder where that file is? You didn’t bring it?’

‘No, sir. As I explained—’ ‘Well, never mind. But we mustn’t become careless, Normand, too much is at stake. Do you realize that without that file we would know literally nothing whatever about Hinton? It would be most awkward.’

‘I assure you, sir, the file—’

‘Enough, Normand. Don’t worry yourself.’ Dr Mellinger turned a vulpine smile upon the restless Normand. ‘I have the greatest respect for the efficiency of the administrative department under your leadership. I think it unlikely that they should have misplaced it. Tell me, Normand, are you sure that this file ever existed?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ Normand replied promptly. ‘Of course, I have not actually seen it myself, but every patient at Green Hill has a complete personal file.’

‘But Normand,’ the Director pointed out gently, ‘the patient in question is not at Green Hill. Whether or not this hypothetical file exists, Hinton does not.’

He stopped and waited as Normand looked up at him, his eyes narrowing.

A week later, Dr Mellinger held a final conference in his office. This was a notably more relaxed gathering; his subordinates lay back in the leather armchairs around the fire, while Dr Mellinger leaned against the desk, supervising the circulation of his best sherry.

‘So, gentlemen,’ he remarked in conclusion, ‘we may look back on the past week as a period of unique self-discovery, a lesson for all of us to remember the true nature of our roles at Green Hill, our dedication to the task of separating reality from illusion. If our patients are haunted by chimeras, let us at least retain absolute clarity of mind, accepting the validity of any proposition only if all our senses corroborate it. Consider the example of the "Hinton affair". Here, by an accumulation of false assumptions, of illusions buttressing illusions, a vast edifice of fantasy was erected around the wholly mythical identity of one patient. This imaginary figure, who by some means we have not discovered — most probably the error of a typist in the records department — was given the name "Hinton", was subsequently furnished with a complete personal identity, a private ward, attendant nurses and doctors. Such was the grip of this substitute world, this concatenation of errors, that when it crumbled and the lack of any substance behind the shadow was discovered, the remaining vacuum was automatically interpreted as the patient’s escape.’

Dr Mellinger gestured eloquently, as Normand, Redpath and Booth nodded their agreement. He walked around his desk and took his seat. ‘Perhaps, gentlemen, it is fortunate that I remain aloof from the day-to-day affairs of Green Hill. I take no credit upon myself, that I alone was sufficiently detached to consider the full implications of Hinton’s disappearance and realize the only possible explanation — that Hinton had never existed!’

‘A brilliant deduction,’ Redpath murmured.

‘Without doubt,’ echoed Booth.

‘A profound insight,’ agreed Normand.

There was a sharp knock on the door. With a frown, Dr Mellinger ignored it and resumed his monologue.

‘Thank you, gentlemen. Without your assistance that hypothesis, that Hinton was no more than an accumulation of administrative errors, could never have been confirmed.’

The knock on the door repeated itself. A staff sister appeared breathlessly. ‘Excuse me, sir. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but—’ Dr Mellinger waved away her apologies. ‘Never mind. What is it?’

‘A visitor, Dr Mellinger.’ She paused as the Director waited impatiently. ‘Mrs Hinton, to see her husband.’

For a moment there was consternation. The three men around the fire sat upright, their drinks forgotten, while Dr Mellinger remained stock-still at his desk. A total silence filled the room, only broken by the light tapping of a woman’s heels in the corridor outside.

But Dr Mellinger recovered quickly. Standing up, with a grim smile at his colleagues, he said: ‘To see Mr Hinton? Impossible, Hinton never existed. The woman must be suffering from terrible delusions; she requires immediate treatment. Show her in.’ He turned to his colleagues. ‘Gentlemen, we must do everything we can to help her.’

Minus two.

The Sudden Afternoon

What surprised Elliott was the suddenness of the attack. Judith and the children had gone down to the coast for the weekend to catch the last of the summer, leaving him alone in the house, and the three days had been a pleasant reverie of silent rooms, meals taken at random hours, and a little mild carpentry in the workshop. He spent Sunday morning reading all the reviews in the newspapers, carefully adding half a dozen titles to the list of books which he knew he would never manage to buy, let alone read. These wistful exercises, like the elaborately prepared martini before lunch, were part of the established ritual of his brief bachelor moments. He decided to take a brisk walk across Hampstead Heath after lunch, returning in time to tidy everything away before Judith arrived that evening.

Instead, a sharp attack of what first appeared to be influenza struck him just before one o’clock. A throbbing headache and a soaring temperature sent him fumbling to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, only to find that Judith had taken the aspirin with her. Sitting on the edge of the bath, forehead in his hands, he nursed the spasm, which seemed to contract the muscles of some inner scalp, compressing his brain like fruit-pulp in a linen bag.