She sighed. “I’d rather not know. What’s wrong with running away from something too big for us to fight?”
He stopped and looked at her. “What’s come over you, Cyn? You never went chicken before.”
“No,” she answered slowly, “I never did. But I never had reason to. Look at me, Teddy — you know I’m not a female female. I don’t expect you to pick fights in restaurants when some lug tries to pick me up. I don’t scream at the sight of blood and I don’t expect you to clean up your language to fit my ladylike ears. As for the job, did I ever let you down on a case? Through timidity, I mean. Did I ever?”
“Hell, no. I didn’t say you did.”
“But this is a different case. I had a gun in my bag a few minutes ago, but I couldn’t use it. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t.”
He swore, with emphasis and considerable detail. “I wish I had seen him then. I would have used mine!”
“Would you have, Teddy?” Seeing his expression, she jumped up and kissed him suddenly, on the end of his nose. “I don’t mean you would have been afraid. You know I didn’t mean that. You’re brave and you’re strong and I think you’re brainy. But look, dear — yesterday he led you around by the nose and made you believe you were seeing things that weren’t there. Why didn’t you use your gun then?”
“I didn’t see any occasion to use it.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You saw what was intended for you to see. How can you fight when you can’t believe your own eyes?”
“But, damn it, he can’t do this to us — ”
“Can’t he? Here’s what he can do.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “He can be two places at once. He can make you see one thing and me another, at the same time — outside the Acme Building, remember? He can make you think you went to an office suite that doesn’t exist on a floor that doesn’t exist. He can pass through a locked door to use a typewriter on the other side. And he doesn’t leave fingerprints. What does that add up to?”
He made an impatient gesture. “To nonsense. Or to magic. And I don’t believe in magic.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then,” he said, “we’ve both gone bats.” He laughed, but it was not merry.
“Maybe. If it’s magic, we had best see a priest — ”
“I told you I don’t believe in magic.”
“Skip it. If it’s the other, it won’t do us any good to try to tail Mr. Hoag. A man with the D.T.’s can’t catch the snakes he thinks he sees and take them to a zoo. He needs a doctor — and maybe we do, too.”
Randall was suddenly alert. “Say!”
“Say what?”
“You’ve just reminded me of an angle that I had forgotten — Hoag’s doctor. We never checked on him.”
“Yes, you did, too. Don’t you remember? There wasn’t any such doctor.”
“I don’t mean Dr. Rennault; I mean Dr. Potbury — the one he went to see about the stuff under his fingernails.”
“Do you think he really did that? I thought it was just part of the string of lies he told us.”
“So do I. But we ought to check up on it.”
“I’ll bet you there isn’t any such doctor.”
“You’re probably right, but we ought to know. Gimme the phone book.” She handed it to him; he thumbed through it, searching for the P’s. “Potbury — Potbury. There’s half a column of them. But no M.D.’s, though,” he announced presently. “Let’s have the yellow section; sometimes doctors don’t list their home addresses.” She got it for him and he opened it. “‘Physical Culture Studios’ — ‘Physicians & Surgeons.’ What a slog of ’em! More doctors than saloons — half the town must be sick most of the time. Here we are: ‘Potbury, P.T., M.D.'”
“That could be the one,” she admitted.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go find out.”
“Teddy!”
“Why not?” he said defensively. “Potbury isn’t Hoag — “