features were indelibly imprinted.
Heavy black letters over the picture asked: WHO IS SHE?
The caption beneath, in smaller letters was: AMNESIA VICTIM IN LOCAL HOSPITAL.
Shortly before two o’clock this morning, the girl pictured above presented herself at the front door of City Hospital in a dazed state of shock.
Sobbing and distraught, she was unable to give a coherent story of the events leading up to her appearance at the hospital, and had absolutely no knowledge of her own identity, with no memory whatsoever prior to a short time previously when she stated she had found herself wandering alone on some deserted stretch of highway near Brockton with no knowledge of how she came to be there or where she was or who she was.
According to her story, a passing motorist stopped his car to pick her up, and after hearing her story, drove her directly to the hospital entrance where he let her out and drove away at once without giving his name or any clue to his identity. He was driving a shabby coupe, she stated, either dark blue or green, and one of the popular makes, Ford, Chevrolet or Plymouth.
She could not describe his physical appearance in any detail, but said he was kind to her and she was very grateful for his help.
A physical examination disclosed that she had suffered a hard blow on the right temple from some blunt instrument an hour or so previously, which undoubtedly was responsible for her amnesia.
Dr. Jay Philbrick, who was summoned from his home to conduct the examination expressed his opinion that it was entirely possible she might recover her lost memory after the first state of shock passed, although he admitted that in many similar cases the victims had remained with no vestige of memory of past events for weeks or for months.
“The very best treatment for a case of this type,” Dr. Philbrick stated emphatically after his first examination, “is to place the patient in contact with familiar surroundings and with her own family and friends. Recovery is generally swift under those conditions, and there is little reason to fear this young lady will not be as good as new as soon as her memory is jolted by some familiar face or circumstance and begins to function again.
“It is of the utmost importance, however,” he concluded, “that she should be identified as soon as possible, and placed among friends.”
For this reason the Courier is running her photograph, taken last night by a staff photographer, on our front page with an appeal to our readers for any information that may lead to her identification.
A detailed description of the Mystery Girl follows: Age: about 20. Height: five feet four inches. Weight: 115 pounds. Fair complexion; blue eyes; naturally curly golden hair; no distinguishing scars or marks. She was wearing an obviously expensive white silk dress, sheer nylon stockings and bronze evening pumps, and no jewelry of any sort except a gold wrist watch.
It is particularly requested that the Good Samaritan who brought her to the hospital and left her there without identifying himself should come forward to tell the authorities where and under what conditions he found her, because the police theorize that she may have been the victim of an auto accident, and the spot where she was first found may help to pinpoint inquiries along that line. This theory, Dr. Philbrick conceded, is wholly plausible as a possible cause of the concussive blow she had sustained.
Shayne laid the paper aside with a frown creasing his forehead. Maybe that explained the crazy set-up-she was wandering around loose still a victim of amnesia. Maybe she had thought she recognized from out of the blankness of the past.
But they wouldn’t have released her from the hospital, would they? Unless she had recovered fully?
He turned the next day’s paper, shaking his head dubiously. On the front page, he found the answer. There was no picture this time, but a headline told him: AMNESIA VICTIM IDENTIFIED.
The girl who mysteriously appeared at City Hospital early yesterday morning suffering from advanced shock and complete loss of memory was identified early yesterday afternoon by means of the photograph which was displayed on the front page of the Courier as a public service.
Her father, Mr. Amos Buttrell, wealthy socialite of New York and wintering at the Roney Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach, drove here from that city after seeing his daughter’s picture prominently displayed on the front page of the Courier at a newsstand there.
“I recognized my daughter, Amy, immediately,” he stated to a representative of the Courier who was on hand at the hospital when the happy reunion occurred, “though I haven’t yet the vaguest idea how she came to be wandering on the highway near Brockton in such a condition.”
She had left the hotel two days ago to visit friends in St. Petersburg, he explained, driving her own car, a two-toned, 1954 Pontiac convertible, and expected to reach St. Petersburg late that evening. When he received no word of her safe arrival yesterday morning, he telephoned her friends in St. Petersburg and learned that she had not arrived in that city as expected.
“I wasn’t actually worried at first,” Mr. Buttrell explained. “Amy is a competent and careful driver and I knew she had sufficient cash to tide her over any ordinary emergency. I was surprised, though, that she hadn’t called either her friends or me to explain the delay, for Amy is usually very punctilious about such things. I was completely bowled over when I recognized her picture on the front page of the Courier which I just happened to see at a newsstand. I drove here at once, of course, to find her in this distressing state.”
Though Brockton is not on the most direct route between Miami and St. Petersburg, it is on an alternate route which Miss Buttrell might easily have chosen for her trip.
The whereabouts of her automobile, however, remains a complete mystery as we go to press, as do the events leading up to her dramatic appearance at the door of the local hospital in the small hours of the morning. A statewide description of the missing automobile has been broadcast by the police, and Chief Ollie Hanger has issued an urgent request that anyone possessing any information at all about the girl or her car should communicate at once with the Brockton police.
There were a couple more paragraphs of straight sob stuff describing the meeting between the distraught father and his beautiful daughter who did not recognize him, with some reassuring words from Dr. Philbrick to the effect that he was positive she would swiftly recover her memory when returned to familiar surroundings.
Shayne folded the paper thoughtfully, picked up the preceding issue that carried Amy Buttrell’s picture and the first story, and as an afterthought, also gathered up all the following issues so that he might go over them at his leisure to see if anything further had been learned about the girl and the accident that had brought on her attack of amnesia.
He paid for the papers at the Information desk and hurried back to his hotel room with them tucked under his arm. He dropped the pile of papers on the floor and strode directly to the telephone where he asked the hotel operator to connect him with the Roney Plaza hotel in Miami Beach.
After a brief wait, “The Roney Plaza, good morning,” came through the receiver, and he asked for Mr. Amos Buttrell.
There was a short wait while Shayne sank into a chair, worried a cigarette out of a limp package and got it lighted with his free hand. Then the voice said, “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have any Mr. Buttrell. Did I get the name correctly?”
“B-u-t-t-r-e-l-l,” Shayne spelled it out for her patiently. “Amos Buttrell.”
“Yes, sir.” The voice was doubtful. “He isn’t registered, I’m afraid.”
“He was a few days ago. Last Friday or Saturday. If he’s checked out since, can you give me an address where he can be reached?”
“I’ll connect you with the office if you wish.”
Shayne said, “Please do.” A deep frown creased his forehead and his nostrils tightened as he drew a deep lungful of smoke. When a brisk male voice asked if he could be of service, Shayne explained tersely, adding, “This is long distance and very important police business. I’ll hold on.”
He held on until the cigarette was smoked down close to his fingertips. Then the brisk voice told him apologetically, “I’m afraid there is some mistake. Our records don’t show any Mr. Buttrell registered here at all during the past two weeks.”
“How about a Miss Buttrell?” Shayne asked harshly. “Amy.”
