"He annoyed you, Tremont? Charlie's a good boy. A little off mentally—like most of them here."
Charlie had been summarily dismissed. Turber added: "You do not bring the charming little Nanette. Where is she? I would far rather see her than you, Tremont."
Alan, from his six-foot height, gazed down at Turber. He ignored the reference to Nanette, and said:
"There was a girl found in Central Park this morning. Amnesia case, the papers say. Transferred here from Bellevue. My friend Williams here does some newspaper writing—he'd like to see her."
Turber's face remained calmly polite. His gaze went to me. It made my heart leap—his quiet, keen scrutiny, as though without effort he might read my thoughts.
"A girl? Amnesia case? No girl came here." His glance swung between us; but his wide, thin-lipped mouth was smiling ironically. He added: "You believe what you read, evidently. You are trustful."
Alan's shortness of temper surprised me. "Then you won't let us see her."
"No, why should I?"
"But you admit that she's here?"
There was no love lost between these two! Turber rasped: