“No,” said the senator. “No, I’m afraid I—”
He rumbled to a stop, astounded.
He hadn’t read the paper!
He had forgotten to read the paper!
He always read the paper. He never failed to read it. It was a solemn rite, starting at the front and reading straight through to the back, skipping only those sections which long ago he’d found not to be worth the reading.
He’d had the paper at the institute and he had been interrupted when the girl told him that Dr. Smith would see him. He had come out of the office and he’d left the paper in the reception room.
It was a terrible thing. Nothing, absolutely nothing, should so upset him that he forgot to read the paper.
“I’m afraid I didn’t read the story,” the senator said lamely. He simply couldn’t force himself to admit that he hadn’t read the paper.
“Dr. Carson,” said Lee, “was a biochemist, a fairly famous one. He died ten years or so ago, according to an announcement from a little village in Spain, where he had gone to live. But I have reason to believe, senator, that he never died at all, that he may still be living.”
“Hiding?” asked the senator.