Mason laughed. “There you go again! You have a criminal mind, Paul, and you’ll be imagining my clients into the gallows before you’re done. Step on it, and let’s see what that medico says.”
“Don’t try crawfishing,” Drake insisted. “I rather like that blood-stained clothes business myself.”
Chapter five
Dr. James Wallace was still on duty at the Good Samaritan Hospital when Mason and Drake arrived. He listened to Mason’s introduction with courteous attention.
“Indeed, yes,” he said, shaking hands, “I remember the patient perfectly. He was received at twelve-ten this afternoon. For the most part, his injuries were cranial and superficial, but there was a most interesting condition which is sometimes encountered in cases of this sort. The man was suffering from traumatic amnesia.”
“Translated into English,” Drake said, “what is traumatic amnesia?”
The doctor favored Drake with a condescending smile and said, “Pardon. I didn’t intend to use technical terminology. Amnesia is a loss of memory. Victims of amnesia know nothing of their past, cannot tell their names; of anything about themselves. And traumatic, of course, implies that the cause of the amnesia was superinduced by injury, that is, an external violence.”
“Let’s see if I understand you, Doctor,” Mason said. “When Packard regained consciousness he had an impaired memory — is that right?”
“That’s right,” Dr. Wallace said in his well modulated, suavely courteous voice. “There were no broken bones. In fact, from what I hear of the accident, I would say he had escaped remarkably well. There were a few ecchymoses, one or two superficial cuts about the face, the possibility of a strained ligament, and, of course, the effect of shock. My treatment of his physical injuries took only a very few minutes.
“According to the statement of the man who brought him here, the collision had been rather severe. The patient had been unconscious when lifted into the truck. He regained consciousness as he was being carried on the stretcher to the surgery, but he had a complete lapse of memory. He couldn’t tell us his name, his occupation, where he came from, whether he was married or single, or anything about himself. We searched his pockets and founds cards which showed that he was Carl Packard, of Altaville, California. I was very careful not to call his attention to these cards, or do anything which might refresh his recollection until after the effect of the shock had worn off somewhat, and I had satisfied myself there were no serious injuries. Then I gave him a brandy, talked with him for a few moments, and then quite casually asked him how things were in Altaville.”