Farrow stopped her car. I leaned out and started to call, but something stopped me.
"He is no Mekstrom, Steve," said Farrow in a whisper.
"But this is a way station, according to the road sign."
"I know. But it isn't, according to him. He doesn't know any more about Mekstrom's Disease than you did before you met Catherine."
"Then what the devil is wrong?"
"I don't know. He's perceptive, but not too well trained. Name's William Carroll. Let me do the talking, I'll drop leading remarks for you to pick up."
The man came over amiably. "Looking for someone?" he asked cheerfully.
"Why, yes," said Gloria. "We're sort of mildly acquainted with the—Mannheims who used to live here. Sort of friends of friends of theirs, just dropped by to say hello, sort of," she went on, covering up the fact that she'd picked the name of the former occupant out of his mind.
"The Mannheims moved about two months ago," he said. "Sold the place to us—we got a bargain. Don't really know, of course, but the story is that one of them had to move for his health."
"Too bad. Know where they went?"