Dr. Poindexter looked envious. «They were women you desired, that you really wanted? They were attractive? The ambiance-by that I mean the background, the setting and the time, they were all satisfactory? You were not rushed, or hurried, worried?»

Blade grew a little tired of the game. The man couldn't help him, it was obvious. He rose, his broad-shouldered bulk nearly filling the small room, and headed for the door.

«Nothing like that,» he assured the doctor. «Two nights ago I had the most beautiful woman in London naked on a bed. Her husband was in South Africa and the servants had been sent away. Nothing happened, Doctor, absolutely nothing.»

Dr. Poindexter followed him to the door of the treatment room. «It is not, I suppose, a question of alcohol?»

«I think not, Doctor. I have been a heavy drinker in my day, but not now.»

The doctor held the door open. «I could recommend a psychiatrist-«

«Please don't,» said Blade, smiling. «I have been to half-a-dozen already.»

The doctor shook his head. «It wouldn't hurt to see another, you know, several perhaps. Sometimes it is just a question of finding the right man. In the meantime we can't neglect that thing in your brain. I'll set up a hospital date for you. They'll want to run some preliminary tests and-«

«Don't bother just now,» Blade said. «I'll be in touch.» It was a lie-he wasn't coming back.

The doctor sensed the truth and hastened to add, «You just can't neglect it, you know. It won't go away, and it could be dangerous-very dangerous.»

It already has been, thought Blade. The X-rays had been taken by a technician and the doctor had not seen the great slash of scar on his skull, now concealed by his thick dark hair. Nor could the doctor, nor any of the doctors he had seen recently, know how his brain had been tortured and distorted by the computer over the past few years. He could not tell them and they would not have understood. It was a cheat and a waste of money and time, but he was desperate. Anxiety fed on itself and produced a feedback of fear.