Duane screwed his eyes tight together and grimaced. When he opened them again there was alertness and clarity in them—but there was also bafflement.
"Girl," he said, "who are you? Where am I?"
"Peter!" There was shock and hurt in the tone of her voice. "I'm—don't you know me, Peter?"
Duane shook his head confusedly. "I don't know anything," he said. "I—I don't even know my own name."
"Duane, Duane," a man's heavy voice said. "That won't wash. Don't play dumb on me."
"Duane?" he said. "Duane...." He swiveled his head and saw a dark, squat man frowning at him. "Who are you?" Peter asked.
The dark man laughed. "Take your time, Duane," he said easily. "You'll remember me. My name's Andrias. I've been waiting here for you to wake up. We have some business matters to discuss."
The nurse, still eyeing Duane with an odd bewilderment, said: "I'll leave you alone for a moment. Don't talk too much to him, Mr. Andrias. He's still suffering from shock."
"I won't," Andrias promised, grinning. Then, as the girl left the room, the smile dropped from his face.
"You play rough, Duane," he observed. "I thought you'd have trouble with Stevens. I didn't think you'd find it necessary to put him out of the way so permanently. Well, no matter. If you had to kill him, it's no skin off my nose. Give me a release on the merchandise. I've got your money here."