“Liked me? But you believed I was Sargon, King of Kings?”
“Practically,” said Bobby.
“You didn’t. Neither, I suppose, did I.”
The vague blue eyes left Bobby’s face and stared out of the window at the sky. “I have been very much confused in my mind,” said Sargon. “Even now I am not clear. But I realize I am confused. Christina Alberta is my daughter. The Princess Royal I called her. In Sumeria. She is a very dear, bold girl. She is all I have. I left her and came away from her, and I must have distressed her greatly.”
“Then she may not know where you have been?”
“She may be looking for me.”
“Where is she?”
“I have been trying to remember. It was in a studio somewhere—with peculiar pictures. I never liked those pictures. A studio in a Mew. It had a name but I cannot remember its name. It is stupid of me. Probably Christina Alberta is there with her friends—still wondering what has become of me.”
“At the—at the Place, they told me your name was Preemby.”
“Albert Edward Preemby.... I wonder.”