"No," Doane responded. "I had thought of that and sought for an hour for some sort of mark. There's nothing--nothing." The eyes glittered a little and finally, in a burst of nervousness, he struggled to his feet. "My God!" he exclaimed. "Is there nothing you can do? What is it all, anyway?"
"Seems to be a remarkable form of aphasia," replied The Thinking Machine. "That's not an uncommon disease among people whose minds and nerves are overwrought. You've simply lost yourself--lost your identity. If it is aphasia, you will recover in time. When, I don't know."
"And meantime?"
"Let me see the money you found."
With trembling hands Doane produced a large roll of bills, principally hundreds, many of them perfectly new. The Thinking Machine examined them minutely, and finally made some memoranda on a slip of paper. The money was then returned to Doane.
"Now, what shall I do?" asked the latter.
"Don't worry," advised the scientist. "I'll do what I can."
"And--tell me who and what I am?"
"Oh, I can find that out all right," remarked The Thinking Machine. "But there's a possibility that you wouldn't recall even if I told you all about yourself."