"Not at all," she said. There was no uneasiness in her now. Carroll was safe enough, an amnesia victim according to Dr. Pollard, who had told her to cultivate his friendship if she could. Sally and Dr. Pollard had been in a three hour conference on the day after Carroll had met her outside of the typing bureau. So Sally was prepared.
"Mind?" he said, reaching for the box.
"I shouldn't let you," she said seriously. "I'm charged with their delivery, you know. But—I guess you may, Mr. Carroll. I know it makes a man feel foolish to walk along with a woman carrying a big bundle. Go ahead."
He took it. Now they'd have to deal with him!
They came to the corner, stopped for traffic and Carroll looked about him nervously. He was expecting trouble of some sort, but no trouble came. The lights changed with absolutely no sign of that black sedan and, as they were in mid-street, Sally said, "Mind if we stop off at the drug store for a sandwich?"
"Is that all right?" he countered.
"Yes," she said. "I live a long ride from here and the typing bureau is on the way to the station. I asked Mr. Majors if this was okay, and he said it was. I've been doing this every night, now, for months."
"But the—" he stubbed his toe on the far curb and stumbled.
She laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, "but the picture of the great James Carroll stumbling over a curb—"