Then Fred knew. He spoke suddenly. "You're a psychiatrist." The pieces fell into place. Fred's father had mentioned this man several times, and the boy knew he was not there by chance—that his mother had contacted the psychiatrist—this particular one because she too had remembered the acquaintanceship. For a moment, Fred was annoyed with his mother. Why on earth had she brought a psychiatrist into this? Then he softened as he realized she felt it to be to her son's best interests.
"Yes, I'm a psychiatrist," Gaard said. Then, as though he could read Fred's mind: "Your mother did send for me, but so far as I'm concerned, it's more than just a professional visit. I knew your father and liked him. I'd like to be your friend."
"You plan to psychoanalyze me?"
"Don't be so grim about it," Curt Gaard smiled. "Just let's make this a social visit. There will be plenty of time for other things later. Perhaps you can drop in at my office."
"Perhaps," Fred said, almost absently. A short time later he excused himself and went to his room.
"Mrs. Grant?" Mr. Browne said, smiling at the woman behind the screen door. "I'm Mr. Browne the publisher."
"Browne?" she said. "Oh yes. My hus—husband has mentioned you."
"Favorably, I hope?" Browne was wondering if Dr. Grant had told her of his decision not to let the book be published.
"Oh yes, very favorably." She frowned. "Which reminds me. He received a check from you for the advance royalties. I'm sure he didn't cash it because there was no deposit at the bank that large. I can't find the check anywhere. He must have had it with him when—"