The doctor leaned back, more at ease now, and professionally sure of himself. “Not the slightest, Mr. Shayne. Amnesia is exceedingly difficult to fake successfully, notwithstanding many fiction stories and newspaper articles to the contrary, and medical evidence in this case proved conclusively that the type of concussion she suffered would necessarily produce some degree of retrograde amnesia. Are you intimating that her own physician questions my diagnosis?”
“I haven’t discussed it with him,” said Shayne truthfully. “I wanted your assurance first. I understand it was a blow on the head that caused concussion. What sort of blow?”
“Do you want me to describe it in medical terms?”
“No,” said Shayne hastily. “What I mean is… how, in your opinion was it administered? I understand you examined her immediately afterward. Do you think it was the result of an automobile accident… or had she been attacked?”
“Not immediately afterward, Mr. Shayne. I was called to the hospital immediately after she arrived there, but it had obviously been some hours since the injury was sustained. There were certain minor bruises on her body that might well fit the theory of an auto accident, but they were not conclusive. As to the girl having been attacked… there was no evidence of sexual attack if that is what you infer. The blow could easily have been administered by a blunt instrument, or it could have come from being thrown clear of a speeding car and striking her head on a smooth rock, let us say. There was really nothing conclusive from the external evidence.”
“She is the first amnesia victim I ever met,” Shayne said frankly. “I was amazed that there were no outward signals to a layman indicating her condition. Is that normal? What I mean is,” he went on hastily, “I guess I expected to find her confused and dazed. Sort of vague and dull-eyed, maybe. But there were none of those physical indications when I saw her.”
“Of course not.” The doctor’s manner was properly condescending. “This was a clear-cut case of retrograde amnesia, you must understand. The concussive shock was confined to certain nerve centers of the brain which automatically block out past memories. Nothing else. Her brain functions perfectly normally otherwise. Your mistake is a common one, I might add, and if she did display those symptoms it would be more than likely that she was faking loss of memory.”
Shayne said slowly, “I see. One other thing, doctor. By the way, do you consider yourself an expert on amnesia?”
Dr. Philbrick flushed slightly and his voice was testy. “I consider myself competent to diagnose and treat such a case. No physician, Mr. Shayne, would consider himself an expert on amnesia. It is a relatively rare occurrence in real life, but I am thoroughly familiar with the literature on the subject.”
“Good,” said Shayne heartily. “Then you can tell me this. In a case like Miss Buttrell’s… where she doesn’t remember anything prior to receiving the blow on her head… is it possible that in striving to remember, the patient may be subject to hallucinations? That is, think she remembers things that aren’t true at all? Might she honestly think she recognizes someone whom she has never actually seen before at all?”
“This gets into the realm of the psychological rather than the physiological,” protested Dr. Philbrick. “I have never seen such a case reported, but I daresay it might be a possible result under certain conditions of psychological stress. I cannot venture a categorical answer, though my personal opinion would be in the negative in this particular case at least. During the period I had Miss Buttrell under observation I judged her to possess a quiet, sound temperament, with a high degree of intelligence. Not at all the type to work herself up into hysteria or hallucinations.”
“How did she react to her father’s appearance?”
“Passively. She didn’t recognize him, of course. She was certainly pleased when he announced his identity and that he had come to take her home. It was a terrible strain, you know, to be at the hospital completely unrecognized. With no knowledge of who you are… how you got there… whether you will ever be reunited with your family.”
“There was no question whatsoever about Mr. Buttrell’s identification of her?” asked Shayne casually.
The doctor peered across the desk at him curiously. “None whatever. Her physical appearance was unaltered. She was his own daughter whom he had seen just two days before. How could there be any possible question?”
“I guess there couldn’t,” sighed Shayne. “I was just thinking about the newspaper picture he identified her from. I’ve seen it, and like most photos reproduced in papers, it’s quite blurred and isn’t a terribly good likeness.”
“That’s quite true. In fact, until he arrived and saw the girl in the flesh, Mr. Buttrell confided to me he had not been at all sure it was his daughter. I felt he was to be commended for not hesitating to make the long drive up here to relieve his parental anxiety. A less devoted father might easily have been satisfied with a telephone call which would not, of course, have proved anything since there was no physical mark on her body positively identifying her. As a matter of fact, I believe there were two other such telephone calls from persons in other cities who thought they had recognized the newspaper picture.”
“Is that so? Before or after Mr. Buttrell had identified her?”
“One was before, I believe, and the other came through an hour or so after they had left the hospital for Miami. The first caller was not referred to me because the girl they were looking for had a large birthmark which Miss Buttrell did not have, but the second was so insistent that it must be his daughter that I had to talk to him myself to convince him she could not be a Miss Henderson from Orlando.”
“Orlando? Some girl missing from there?”
“A student at Rollins College in Winter Park. Mr. Henderson is a professor there but lives in Orlando. He was quite relieved when I convinced him it was a case of mistaken identity on his part. Now, Mr. Shayne, if you have any further questions I suggest you make them to the police who have made a thorough investigation into the circumstances surrounding Miss Buttrell’s injury.” He pushed back his swivel chair and stood up. “Please remember me to Mr. Buttrell when you report back to him, and remind him that I am most interested in hearing the details of his daughter’s ultimate recovery.”
Shayne assured him that the next time he talked with Mr. Buttrell he would deliver Dr. Philbrick’s message, and he let himself out, smiling reassuringly at the nurse who was typing in the outer office as he went through.
8
At the hotel there was a message for Shayne to call Timothy Rourke in Miami. The detective hurried up to his room to put the call through.
“I don’t know what the deal is with your friend Amos Buttrell,” Rourke told him when he came on. “But he definitely ain’t.”
“Ain’t what?”
“Not registered at the Roney Plaza and hasn’t been. No mistake on that, Mike. I know one of the assistant managers, and that’s straight. What’s more, there’s nobody named Buttrell listed in either the Miami or Miami Beach directories. And I went back through the issues of both papers the last few days on the chance I missed the amnesia story you mentioned. I found two short dispatches from Brockton. Nothing at all locally. The second dispatch mentioned your Mr. Buttrell and his daughter as wintering at the Roney, and I checked here in the office since it would be routine for us to send a man to interview him and get a story. Ned Piper pulled the assignment, and ran into the same dead-end. No Buttrell at the Roney for him to interview. It looked funny but he just figured there’d been a mistake in the name and let it drop. That help you out any, Mike?”
“Damned if I know,” groaned Shayne. “At this point I don’t know what would help out. Did you check with Will Gentry?”
“Oh, yeh. I called Will and went to look over the lug myself. Here’s the story on it. This guy was waiting outside the office when Lucy opened up this morning. Asked for you, and said he’d wait when she said she thought you’d be in later. So he did. He sat and waited. And made Lucy nervous. She’s a smart gal and she sensed something wrong. That he was dangerous. She’s been around you long enough to get a feel for a thing like that, I guess. And she thought a certain bulge under his coat looked suspicious. I guess she gave you this when you
