"I'm sorry, sir; Dr. Kennedy is very busy. He can't see anybody except his regular patients and research subjects."
"Look, take him in this note, will you? Thanks."
Fraser sat uneasily for some minutes, wondering if he'd worded the note correctly. I must see you about Miss Judy Harkness. Important. Well, what the devil else could you say?
The receptionist came out again. "Dr. Kennedy can spare you a few minutes, sir," she said. "Go right on in."
"Thanks." Fraser slouched toward the inner door. The two men lowered their magazines to follow him with watchful eyes.
There was a big, handsomely-furnished office inside, with a door beyond that must lead to the laboratory. Kennedy looked up from some papers and rose, holding out his hand. He was a medium-sized man, rather plump, graying hair brushed thickly back from a broad, heavy face behind rimless glasses. "Yes?" His voice was low and pleasant. "What can I do for you?"
"My name's Fraser." The visitor sat down and accepted a cigarette. Best to act urbanely. "I know Miss Harkness well. I understand you made some encephalographic studies of her."
"Indeed?" Kennedy looked annoyed, and Fraser recalled that Judy had been asked not to tell anyone. "I'm not sure; I would have to consult my records first." He wasn't admitting anything, thought Fraser.
"Look," said the engineer, "there's been a marked change in Miss Harkness recently. I know enough psychology to be certain that such changes don't happen overnight without cause. I wanted to consult you."
"I'm not her psychiatrist," said Kennedy coldly. "Now if you will excuse me, I really have a lot to do—"