“Okay, buddy,” he said. “Don’t wander down any dark alleys, and if anybody gets tough with you, remember the old Hazen shift. Give ’em the old one-two, and when you hit, remember to follow through.”
“I’ll remember,” I assured him and slipped quietly out of the door and into the car.
Back uptown, I made a round of the hospitals. I was gravely professional and very casual — just routine leg-work, giving my card to the attendant at the desk and explaining that I was looking fora person who had disappeared, that there was a chance it was amnesia. If they had any amnesia cases, would they let me know.
“We had a case come in about half an hour ago,” I was told when I stopped at the second hospital. “A young woman—”
I pulled the pictures of Corla Burke from my pocket. “Would she answer this description?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. But I’ll call the floor nurse.”
A few moments later, a stiffly starched nurse looked me over suspiciously, then looked down at the pictures and registered excitement. “Why, that’s the girl!” she exclaimed.
“You’re certain? We can’t afford to have any mistake.”
“No. There’s no question it’s the same one. Who is she?”
Instantly I became cautious. “I’m working for a client,” I said. “I can’t divulge information until I’ve consulted that client, but it’s an interesting case. She disappeared almost on the eve of her wedding — overtaxed nerves. May I see her?”