Mason said, suavely, “Now, this was after you had lost your memory, Fleetwood. Amnesia victims remember everything that happened after their initial loss of memory. In other words, you remember starting out with the woman who said she was your older sister and then you both took her car and drove off — and then you met her husband. Do you remember that?”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Since when?”
“I don’t have to answer your questions. Who are you, anyway?”
Mason said, “You’d have to answer police questions.”
“Why do you keep calling me Fleetwood?”
“Because you’re either Fleetwood, in which event you’re going to police headquarters; or you’re William Raymond, in which event you’re going home. Now just who do you think you are?”
“I guess I’m William Raymond if this girl says so,” Fleetwood said.
“I certainly should know my own husband,” Gertie said in mock indignation.
“Now, look,” Fleetwood said, suddenly suspicious. “I’m not going through any marriage ceremonies with any woman and I’m not going to register anywhere with any woman as husband and wife. I’m not going to get trapped into any common law marriage, or anything of that sort!”
“Listen to him,” Gertie said reproachfully. “He wants to get away from me. Why, darling, before we were married, you told me I was the only woman in the world for you, that...”
“For God’s sake, will you shut up!” Fleetwood shouted.
“And then, of course,” Mason went on suavely, “if you are Fleetwood, there’s a man by the name of George Jerome who wants to talk with you, and another man named Keith, who is very anxious to get in touch with you. I could probably get myself a piece of change by delivering you to either one of them. Keith, in particular, is very anxious to get in touch with you. Nice fellow, Keith. Do you know him?”
“I don’t know anyone!”
“Now, William, don’t be difficult,” Gertie said chidingly.
“God, but you get in my hair!” Fleetwood said.
“I’m being rebuffed,” Gertie said archly, “and by my own husband. That wasn’t the way you talked five years ago, that moonlit night on the lake, William.”
Della Street reached the paved highway, turned back down the mountains, sent the car gliding smoothly along the curves.
“I could bust my way out of here, you know,” Fleetwood said. “I don’t see anyone who’s going to stop me.”
“Look again,” Mason told him.
“This is kidnaping. You know what that means.”
“It’s not kidnaping. I’ve simply found a victim of amnesia. I’m taking him to police headquarters.”
“Me? Police headquarters?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t want to go to police headquarters.”
“If you want to make the situation entirely legal,” Mason said, “that’s the place for you.”
“Who said anything about making it legal?”
“You didn’t want to come with me of your own free will,” Mason said. “You called it kidnaping. You’re mentally sick. You admit that you don’t know who you are. Perhaps, after all, Gertie has made a mistake, and police headquarters is the best place for you.”
“Suppose I remembered who I was? Then you’d have to turn me loose.”
“Then,” Mason admitted, “I’d have to turn you loose. Who are you, Fleetwood?”
Fleetwood hesitated for nearly ten seconds. “I don’t know,” he said at length.
“Well,” Mason told him, “if you’re William Raymond, you go with Gertie. If you’re Robert Fleetwood, you go to police headquarters.”
Fleetwood settled back in the cushions and said, “Okay, I go with Gertie. I guess it won’t be so bad, after all. Give me a kiss, sweetheart.”
“Not now,” Gertie said, suddenly cold. “You’ve repulsed me in public. I don’t know but what perhaps I’ll get a divorce.”
Fleetwood, suddenly beginning to enjoy the situation, said, “But I didn’t know who you were then, darling.”
“Do you now?”
“No, but I’m willing to take your word for it. I don’t give a damn whether you love me or not. You’re married to me.”
“No,” Gertie said, drawing away from him. “I’ve had a stroke of amnesia myself. I can’t remember who you are. I think you’re a stranger.”
Fleetwood said, “The whole outfit is nuts. Let me out of here!”
Della kept driving smoothly.
Mason gave himself to silent smoking.
After a while Fleetwood said, “Who’s this Allred you’ve been talking about?”
“I thought you might recognize the name.”
“It sounds sort of familiar. Tell me more about him.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
“Who was he?”
“What makes you think he’s dead?”
“I didn’t say he was dead.”
“You asked who he was.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“But why didn’t you say, ‘Who is he?’ ”
“I don’t know. Maybe you gave me the impression he was a dead relative or something.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know, I tell you! I don’t know a thing in the world about him. Now shut up and stop cross-examining me!”
They drove for more than an hour, then Fleetwood, who had apparently decided on a course of action, said, “I don’t want to go with you.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Home!”
“Where’s your home?”
“I tell you I don’t know, but I don’t want to go with you. You are going to deliver me to this man you were talking about — what’s his name — Dixon Keith? Yeah, I think that’s it.”
“You know Keith?”
“You mentioned his name. Where did you get all this about a doctor saying that I needed to be kept quiet?”
“That’s the standard treatment of victims of amnesia,” Mason said.
They had another long period of silence, Fleetwood thinking in scowling concentration.
They entered the city. Della Street turned to look questioningly at Mason.
The lawyer nodded.
“Now the interesting part about amnesia,” Mason went on, “is that when you do get your memory back and remember who you are, if you have had genuine amnesia, you won’t be able to remember a thing that happened during the period you were suffering from amnesia. Remember that, Fleetwood.”
“My name’s not Fleetwood.”
“Maybe it isn’t,” Mason admitted. “Anyway, remember one thing — when you get your memory back, and do know who you are, if you have had genuine amnesia, you won’t be able to recall anything that happened during the period when your mind was a blank. During your period of amnesia, you remember everything except who you are in your past life. Once the memory of your past life comes back to you, you. can’t recall anything about the interval of amnesia.”
“Why are you giving me all that good advice?”
“Oh, I just want you to make a good job of all this,” Mason said.
Della Street said over her shoulder, “How am I doing, Chief?”
“Keep crowding the signals,” Mason said.
Della Street nodded.
From time to time she jockeyed the car through signals after the red light had flashed, but before oncoming traffic, which was not particularly heavy at that hour of the night, engulfed her.
The fourth time she did this there was the low wail of a siren, and a motorcycle officer said, “I guess you’d better pull in to the curb, Ma’am! What’s your hurry?”
Mason rolled down the window on his side. “We’re going to police headquarters, Officer,” he said. “That’s the hurry. If you’ll escort us, we have a man to take there.”