"We'll get to that later," the Producer promised. "Just do your job, Doc."
"I'm through," Stark said crisply. "Put him on that couch over there and raise his legs. He'll come to his senses in about ten minutes—I hope."
Frick and the Producer helped the man to the sofa. He sprawled on it full-length, fingers trailing on the carpet.
"Do you know who he is?" T.D. said. "He's Jerry Spizer."
"Who?"
"Spizer. The big TV star. You remember."
The doctor halted in the process of clasping his bag, and came over to the sofa. He looked at the man's relaxed face. "By God," he said. "You're right. Now what the hell is Spizer doing on a Thrill Show?"
The Producer shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't heard anything about him for the past eight or ten years."
"He must have had it tough," Frick said musingly. "I mean, a big star like that on a program like this—"
"What do you mean, 'a program like this'?" The Producer looked displeased. "If the Staff had a nickel's worth of imagination, they would have played this up big—"