"The Governor Baldwin," she replied.
"Meet us at the Baldwin, then, as soon as you can get away. I'd like you to meet my friends socially and—"
She nodded brightly and hurried from the room, with a distinctly unmedical motion of her hips.
A moment later Dr. Folsom came lounging in, his strangler's hands dangling at his side.
"Sorry you feel you must leave, Mr. Tompkins," he told me. "Here's that certificate. It will stand up in any court east of the Mississippi if you have to use it. That will be five thousand, as agreed."
I sat down at the little writing-desk and laboriously made out three checks: one for five thousand to the order of the Sanctuary, one for one thousand to the order of Pendergast Potter, and another for one thousand to the order of—
"Any initials, Dr. Folsom?" I asked.
"A. J.," he replied, "but just make it to the Sanctuary."
"A. J. Folsom," I wrote on the final check and endorsed it with "W. S. Tompkins," as well as I could with my still bandaged fingers.
"What—" Folsom was startled. "Gosh! You're a white man, Mr. Tompkins. And Potter will be glad to have this, too. He is—"