His imperturbable smile remained; but it was evident that Alan's persistence was disturbing. I could even fancy, alarming. "But you come, gruffly demanding—and you bring the power of the Press." The faint inclination of his head toward me was a bow of mockery. "You frighten me—"
"Why? Is it something mysterious?"
"It seems to be. Your sudden insistence—I have not seen you in a year. I have had several amnesia patients here, all ignored by you."
Beneath his bantering manner he was trying, no doubt, to fathom what Alan knew.
Alan was silent. I said: "Well, I'd be mighty interested to write up the case. But if we have to get an order from the Health Department—"
"We'll get it," said Alan.
Turber made an abrupt decision. "You may see her. You're an annoying young cub, Tremont. I know you well enough to realize that."
"Can we see her now?" Alan demanded.
"Yes. But only for a moment. Her memory is gone. I was hoping, with my routine treatment, we could get it back."
He led us into the corridor, stalking ahead of us with his heavy head. "This way—she is upstairs."