20“Oh, really,” I said.
I looked at Sergeant Buck, that silent monument in granite planted by the door. There was no expression, as usual, on that face, except perhaps the slightest one to the effect that he needed no applause from the Ladies’ Gallery.
“Who was it?”
“He’s got a temporary amnesia,” Captain Lamb said coolly. “He doesn’t remember who he is. When he’s had a couple more hours where he is I expect it’ll clear up. We’ll be hearing from him any time now.”
He went back to the business of who was where when Joe Kramer had clutched wig and black dress in both his hands.
“That leaves you and Mrs. Kent.”
“It seems strange,” I said, “that a bodyguard would let himself be knocked around like that?”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Captain Lamb agreed without interest, and went back to his
