"Oh," he said, turning away and going back to his work.
My right shoulder was aching again. It reminded me I was supposed to call a radio-therapist. I took the classified directory out from under a pile of papers and started to thumb through it. It gave me an idea. I took the other directory and looked for the name of Fred Martin. I found it, and jotted down the address and phone number.
Leaving the lab, I took the elevator down and went out to the sidewalk. A taxi was there. I gave the driver the address and settled back. Ten minutes later he pulled to the curb in front of the apartment house. I recognized it. I recognized the driveway at the side that led back to my garage stall where I parked my car.
"Wait here," I said.
I went up the familiar stairs and stopped in front of the familiar door. I fumbled in my pockets, but I didn't have any keys. I stood there for a moment, considering plans of action.
Finally I went back to the taxi and back to the lab. There I hunted up a radio-therapist and made an appointment for one o'clock. At four-thirty I was back in the lab again, my shoulder feeling warm and comfortable. At five, Orville and Hank left.
I looked up Dave Thordsen's number and dialed it. I recognized the voice of the woman who answered. "Dave," I growled. "I'll be late. Something that has to be done."
"Did you go to the radio-therapist?" she asked.
"Yes," I grunted. "I'll be home maybe nine. Not later than ten."