Markham Grant knew he was sane. He knew he had seen a murder. But two days later he fell passionately in love with the woman who had been killed.

Who was the man he had seen strangling her?

Or was she going to be strangled?

Doubt piled on doubt, question on question, as he blundered on alone, unable to gain the help of foreigners who thought him mad.

Yet he had to know, he had to get answers. And he had to believe he was right—for that was the only way to save a life which had become very precious to him.