She waited a few more moments and then said, "Honey--I'm here. Little Rhoda. Remember me?" The vague, thoughtful look vanished as he jerked his head around. "Oh, sure--sure, baby." He grinned. "A rough one. If I'd known doctoring was like this I'd have been a nice prosperous butcher." "Do you want to drive?" "No, you drive. I'll sit here and look at your beautiful profile." They drove to Rhoda's apartment--Frank couldn't afford one--and he put Rhoda at one end of the sofa and stretched out with his head in her lap. He unbuttoned her blouse, put a hand over her breast, and teased the nipple. "Mr. Corson, you're a wolf." "Kiss me." "Well, I don't know," she teased. He pulled her head down and she murmured, "Oh, darling...." But he let go of her in the middle of the kiss and, when she straightened, the blank, thoughtful look was back on his face. "Frank--what is it?" The look stayed. "I don't know." "Something's bothering you." "It seems to be. But I don't know what it is." "Did it happen at the hospital?" He frowned. "I guess it must have. It's been bugging me since--" Rhoda showed concern. "Did it have to do with a patient?" "Patients are all I work with. Let's see--" He stopped and his frown deepened. "It was that damned accident case. Broken leg. I set it and put him in ward five. I--" His frown deepened as he sat up. "Uh-huh. It was that damned pulse. That's it. There was something wrong. That pulse was even and steady but, Goddamn it, something was wrong!" He got to his feet. "Baby--I've got to go back to Park Hill." "Do you want to take the car or shall I drive you?" "You drive," he said absently as he got up from the sofa and reached for his necktie. * * * * * Frank hurried in through the emergency entrance and went to the admissions desk. A kindly, gray-haired nurse was working with papers and she dug deep into the pile in response to Frank's query. "We didn't find much on him. An identification card with the name William Matson. Nothing else except a wallet initialed W. M. containing thirty-six dollars in cash." "_Nothing_ else?" The gray-haired nurse shook her head. "No social security number, no driver's license, no home or business address." "Damned odd, don't you think?" "Not at Park Hill. We get them in here without a blessed thing but their clothing. In fact, two weeks ago the boys picked up a stark-naked blonde out of a car crash on East River Drive." Frank grinned automatically, but the grin fell from his face like a mask the moment he turned from the desk. He went through the locker room and got his stethoscope on the way to Ward Five. The patient known to the hospital as William Matson lay quietly on his back, staring at the ceiling. Frank checked the clipboard. There were no notations but his own. He went around the bed and stood looking down at the patient. "Feeling better?" "I feel all--right."