gown with dark, contrasting lapels. An ascot of a lighter
hue covered his throat. Despite the absence of strong light,
I detected a glow to Wertenberg's face that seemed to
surround the entire outline of his head. Rest had obviously
refreshed him. There was more color to his complexion
than I remembered from our encounter in the study. A
vitality in his eyes that had been lacking. He appeared
younger than I had initially believed.
Overcoming my astonishment at his sudden
appearance, I found my voice. “What is the meaning of
these bindings?” I demanded. “Why am I confined in this
room? Where are my clothes?”
The look on his face was one of wry amusement.
“I can't account for your behavior last night” he replied in
a genial tone. “As soon as I had put you to bed, you began
to thrash and tear at your flesh and clothes. Are you
perhaps prone to seizures?” He lifted his eyebrows, pursed
his lips and looked away in contemplation of the
possibility.
“I'm not aware of having ever experienced a
seizure” I replied.
“No” he said, after a moment. “The episode was
entirely inconsistent with epilepsy. I hoped the outburst
would pass quickly but, after some few minutes, you were
completely unclothed. The thrashing continued unabated
and, reluctantly, I applied the restraints for your safety. To
prevent you from doing yourself injury” he added.
“My emotions are under control now” I said. In
view of my precarious predicament, I felt it best to keep
my tone polite but stern. “As you can see, I'm completely
calm. Please unbind me.”
13