“I’d have to ask the doctor.”
I said, “Well, if you’re absolutely certain it’s the same person, we won’t wait for any red tape. She doesn’t know me, anyway. I’ll get in touch with my client.”
“But,” the nurse said, “perhaps you could restore her memory by asking her questions, if you know who she is.”
“I’d prefer not to take that chance. I’d rather let my client get in touch with the doctor.”
“That may be better,” the nurse said dubiously, “but I’ll want your name and address.”
I gave her my card. The nurse at the desk said, “I already have Mr. Lam’s business address.”
I left the hospital, climbed in the jalopy and went out to the cabin. Helen Framley was sitting on the sofa in pajamas and kimono.
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I’m waiting up. You knew you were going back uptown all the time, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”