He didn't sleep a wink. He was perfectly sure of that. But it wasn't over two seconds later that Boyd said: "We're here, Ken. Wake up."
"Whadyamean, wakeup," Malone said. "I wasn't asleep." He thumbed his hat back and sat up rapidly. "Where's 'here?'"
"Bayview Neuropsychiatric Hospital," Boyd said. "This is where Dr.
Harman works, you know."
"No," Malone said. "As a matter of fact, I don't know. You didn't tell me—remember? And who is Dr. Harman, anyhow?"
The car was moving up a long, curving driveway toward a large, lawn- surrounded building. Boyd spoke without looking away from the road.
"Well," he said, "this Dr. Wilson Harman is the man who phoned us yesterday. One of my field agents was out here asking around about imbeciles and so on. Found nothing, by the way. And then this Dr. Harman called, later. Said he had someone here I might be interested in. So I came on out myself for a look, yesterday afternoon—after all, we had instructions to follow up every possible lead."
"I know," Malone said. "I wrote them."
"Oh," Boyd said. "Sure. Well, anyhow, I talked to this dame. Lady."
"And?"
"And I talked to her," Boyd said. "I'm not entirely sure of anything myself. But—well, hell. You take a look at her."