That way they bent their steps, and were soon mounting the broad cement stairs of the building. As they went beneath the brass turnstile, the librarian caught Miller's attention with a smiling glance. He smiled back.
"I'm trying to find something on brain surgery," he explained. "I—"
With a shock, then, he realized he had been talking to himself.
In the next instant, Dave Miller whirled. A voice from the bookcases chuckled:
"If you find anything, I wish you'd let me know. I'm stumped myself!"
From a corner of the room came an elderly, half-bald man with tangled gray brows and a rueful smile. A pencil was balanced over his ear, and a note-book was clutched in his hand.
"You, too!" he said. "I had hoped I was the only one—"
Miller went forward hurriedly to grip his hand.