Hendricks nodded. Harrison tucked McKay’s shirttails back into the top of his trousers, drew his jacket about him and buttoned it. Brady took a glass of water from the table and held it to McKay’s lips. It merely splashed down over his shirtfront.

Hendricks went out. Harrison and the uniformed cop hoisted McKay none too gently out of the chair he was sitting in and walked him around the room. His knees buckled several times, and if they had let go of him he would have pitched forward on his face. But after a few moments he was able to stand upright again.

“All right,” he murmured. “You can get your lousy hands off me now.”

8

8

They released him, and he swayed for a moment, then got his balance. He looked dazedly at the men on either side of him, then the same insolent look as before came back into his eyes.

“I’d like to work on you someday,” he said savagely to Harrison.

“I’ll give you another lesson later,” Harrison said. “So you’ll know how.”

They led him into Hendricks’ office. A tall, dignified looking man was talking to the Captain as they came in. He turned and looked at McKay. He looked at him long and hard, then he nodded his head.

“Yes, that looks like him,” he said. “Though of course it was dark and I was excited, so I shouldn’t say definitely.”

“I believe you can say definitely, Doctor,” Hendricks said. “He’s already been identified by another. You can’t both be wrong.” He turned to McKay. “This is Dr. Clayton, McKay,” he said. “Remember? Your memory’s so damn weak. You know what you did? You lay down in the back of Dr. Clayton’s car and waited for him to come out of a patient’s house and then you stuck him up and took the car away from him because you needed a nice car to take your pretty girlfriend for a ride in. Remember that, McKay?”

Dr. Clayton stepped closer to McKay. “Possibly if I could hear his voice,” he said to Hendricks. “I could tell. I’d hate to pick the wrong man, you know.”

“Speak up, McKay,” Hendricks said. “Dr. Clayton wants to hear what a rat sounds like.”

“Wasn’t it you who held me up from the back of my car?” Dr. Clayton asked lamely.

McKay shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. His voice was only a little higher than a whisper.

“Is the fellow hurt?” Clayton asked Harrison. “He hardly seems able to speak.”

“Drunk,” Harrison said. “He was picked up with enough liquor in him to have killed a horse.”

Clayton returned to the Captain’s desk. “Well, of course it’s hard to say. If I could hear his voice normally, I believe I could tell.”