Bordering the grounds was a scattered, somewhat squalid neighborhood of foreigners. We had crossed a trolley line and ascended a hill arriving at the main gateway of the institution. I glanced back through the rear window of our taxi. We were on a commanding eminence; I could see across the rolling country, over several smoky towns to New York Harbor; the great pile of buildings on lower Manhattan was just visible in the distant haze. The gatekeeper passed us at Alan's request to see Dr. Turber. Our taxi swung up a winding roadway to the porte-cochere at the side of the building. "Will he see us?" I demanded. "If he's here, I imagine he will." "But you're not, even outwardly, friends?" He shrugged. "We speak pleasantly enough when we have occasion to meet. So long as he lets Nanette alone." We were ushered into the cool quiet of a reception room. The white-clad nurse said that doubtless Dr. Turber would see us presently--he was busy at the moment. She left us. It was a fairly large room of comfortable wicker chairs; Oriental rugs on a hardwood, polished floor; a large wicker center table strewn with the latest magazines. A cool, dim room; there were broad French windows, with shades partly drawn and additionally shrouded with heavy velvet portieres across the window alcove. We had seated ourselves. Alan drew his chair nearer to mine. He spoke softly, swiftly, with an eye upon the archway that gave onto the main lower corridor down which the nurse had gone. "I was thinking, Ed--when Turber comes--we've got to have some excuse for seeing the girl." "Yes, but what?" "Tell him--I'll tell him you're a newspaper man. Some of them have been here already, no doubt. We won't go into it--you won't have to say much." I was, in actuality, a pilot in the mail service from Bennett Field down the coast to Miami. I was off now, these three summer months. But posing as a newspaper man was out of my line. "I don't know," I said dubiously. "I have no credentials. If he asks me--" "I'll do most of the talking, Ed." He jumped up suddenly, went to glance into the corridor, and came back. "Come here, I want to show you something." He drew me to the windows. We pushed the portieres aside, and raised one of the shades. We were some ten feet above the level of the paved inner courtyard. Alan murmured: "Just look, Ed--queer construction of this place! I've often wondered, and so did father."