Strange, he thought. Does she ride in that car every night? And if he--or they--were friends, why was there a bit of fight last evening? Why was Sally surprised at his question about last evening? She seemed to ignore the fact that she had been roughly hurled into the black car and that he had tried to help her. She shouldn't be riding in strange cars all over the city when important papers were in her possession. He watched her every evening for a week after that, just to see. And every night the same performance was played. It bothered Carroll, and he determined to see what was going on. The next evening he was in front of her building as she came out. Her face again lighted up. "Hello, Mr. Carroll," she said brightly. "Can't stay away?" "No," he smiled, wondering _away from what?_ "Mind if I walk along?" "Not at all," she said. There was no uneasiness in her now. Carroll was safe enough, an amnesia victim according to Dr. Pollard, who had told her to cultivate his friendship if she could. Sally and Dr. Pollard had been in a three hour conference on the day after Carroll had met her outside of the typing bureau. So Sally was prepared. "Mind?" he said, reaching for the box. "I shouldn't let you," she said seriously. "I'm charged with their delivery, you know. But--I guess you may, Mr. Carroll. I know it makes a man feel foolish to walk along with a woman carrying a big bundle. Go ahead." * * * * * He took it. Now they'd have to deal with him! They came to the corner, stopped for traffic and Carroll looked about him nervously. He was expecting trouble of some sort, but no trouble came. The lights changed with absolutely no sign of that black sedan and, as they were in mid-street, Sally said, "Mind if we stop off at the drug store for a sandwich?" "Is that all right?" he countered. "Yes," she said. "I live a long ride from here and the typing bureau is on the way to the station. I asked Mr. Majors if this was okay, and he said it was. I've been doing this every night, now, for months." "But the--" he stubbed his toe on the far curb and stumbled. She laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, "but the picture of the great James Carroll stumbling over a curb--" "What's so peculiar about me falling over a curb?" he demanded. Sally blushed. Her remark had been instinctive. To her youth, barely out of adolescence, a brilliant physicist of thirty-five years should not be heir to the mundane misfortunes of the ordinary mortal. But she knew that she should not call attention to his past at all. "Nothing," she chuckled. "Excepting the sight of a man trying to keep his balance and hang on to a box at the same time. Just struck my funnybone. I was not laughing at you; I was laughing more at the situation. Please--" He nodded absently. They entered the drug store and sat down. She ordered and he repeated it. "Doesn't this spoil your dinner?" he asked.