But he was wrong.
The man straightened up.
"I think you'll be all right," he said. "If you aren't, call me. My card is on the mantel."
"Thanks, doctor," said Sutton.
He watched him walk across the room, waited until he heard the door click, then sat up in bed. His clothing lay in a pile in the center of the floor. His case? Yes, there it was, lying on a chair. Ransacked, no doubt, probably photostated.
Spy rays, too, more than likely. All over the room. Ears listening and eyes watching.
But who? he asked himself.
No one knew he was returning. No one could have known. Not even Adams. There was no way to know. There had been no way that he could let them know.
Funny.
Funny the way Davis at the spaceport had recognized his name and told a lie to cover up.