"Wait!" Sarah Fish said. "Mr. Golfin says it will happen when you try to leave."
My momentum left me as my hand touched the doorknob. It flowed out of me. I turned around and faced them.
"Just how do you know all this?" I said, glaring at the little man.
"I suppose I had better tell you," he said. "I'm Dr. Golfin."
"Oh," I said.
He reached into his breast pocket and extracted an expensive leather billfold. Looking quite important for his size, he took out a card and extended it to me.
"My specialty is—has been," he said, "amnesiacs. I've made a life study of them."
I looked at the card. It gave the name, Dr. S. L. Golfin, and an address on Wabash, Chicago.
"The phenomenon of amnesia interested me," he went on. "A person suddenly can't remember anything. Perhaps years later memory returns, but there is a gap. Why?"