‘I think so.' The elevator came and the two of them entered it. ‘It'll take an hour or so to get you back there, however. Please try to be patient.' Pembroke lit a fresh cigar.

He did not offer one to Superb.

‘May I ask -- what agency you are with?'

‘I told you.' Pembroke felt irritable. ‘You're simply to consider me an interested party; don't you understand?' He glared at Superb, and neither of them spoke again until they had reached the second floor. ‘Sorry to be abrupt,' Pembroke said as they walked down the hall. ‘But I'm very concerned about your arrest. Very disturbed.' He held the door open, and Superb cautiously entered room 209. ‘Of course, I get disturbed rather readily. It's my job, more or less. Just as it's your job not to permit yourself to become emotionally involved.' He smiled, but Dr Superb did not smile back. Too tense for that, Pembroke observed. Superb's reaction fitted the profile contained in the dossier.

They seated themselves warily, facing each other.

Pembroke said, ‘There's a man coming to consult you. Not far from now, going to be a patient of yours. You understand? So we want you to be there; we want your office open so you can accept him and treat him.'

Nodding, his face rigid, Dr Superb said, ‘I -- see.'

‘The rest -- the others you treat -- we don't care about. Whether they get sicker, get well, pay you a fortune, welsh on their bills -- anything. Just this one individual.'

‘And after he's treated,' Superb said, ‘then you'll shut me down? Like all the other psychoanalysts?'

‘We'll talk about that then. Not right now.'

‘Who is this man?'

Pembroke said, ‘I'm not going to tell you.'

‘I assume,' Dr Superb said after a pause, ‘you've used von Lessinger's time travel apparatus to scout out my results with this man.'