"I'm looking for my brother," Cap'n Mike said. "He's a man about my height, five years younger, still a lot of black in his hair. Red complexion, pretty well lined. Smokes a corncob pipe. His real name is Killian, but I don't think you'd know him by that." He touched his head significantly. "Mind is going. He thinks he's being persecuted." "What makes you think he might be here?" Cap'n Mike's expressive face assumed a look of infinite sadness. "Once, many years ago, he spent his honeymoon here. Lost his wife shortly after in an auto crash, but since his mind went he won't believe she's dead. Even though it was nigh onto twenty years ago. Poor soul. Keeps looking for her. We try to keep him home, so he sneaks off and takes an assumed name. Found him here once before." "When?" the tone was suspicious. "I've been here five years myself, and I don't remember anything like that." "Oh, it was longer ago than that," Cap'n Mike added hastily. "Must be over eight." He coughed apologetically. "We've had him in an old seaman's home for a few years, but he wasn't happy there." Rick looked at Cap'n Mike with admiration. When it came to spinning a convincing yarn right off the cuff, so to speak, Cap'n Mike was a master. Rick hid a smile. What had the old man said about ham actors a little while back? The clerk was nodding slowly. "Old seaman, is he? Well, that fits one of our guests." He looked at Cap'n Mike sharply. "Sure it's all right? Who is this boy?" Cap'n Mike put his hand on Rick's shoulder. "This? Ah, sir, it's this boy's poor mother old Jim came here to find." Rick bowed his head and looked as sad as possible. He had to bow it anyway, to conceal the grin that was forcing its way to the surface. "What room is he in?" Cap'n Mike asked tenderly. "Poor old soul." "I'll call him." The clerk went to the switchboard and plugged in a line, then pulled the toggle switch a couple of times. He picked up the phones and put them on. "Mr. Jameson? Your brother and son are down here to see you." Rick held his breath. The clerk unplugged the line and put the phone down. "He'll be downstairs in a minute." He went back to his comic book. Rick and Cap'n Mike went over to a sofa and sat down. As they did so, a little cloud of dust rose. The minutes ticked away. Rick fidgeted. He leaned over close to Cap'n Mike. "What do you suppose is keeping him?" "Don't know," Cap'n Mike whispered back. "We'd better see." He rose and walked to the desk again. "He's slow in coming, sir. I'm just wondering. Remember I said he thought we were persecuting him? He may ... well, sir, I wonder if we could go up?" There was a trace of alarm in the clerk's face. "Maybe you better," he agreed. "Room 410. Three flights. Two floors up."