could manage a fuzzy picture of a
car reaching out to hit him, the introduction of a blackjack into this
imaginative effort confused things a little. But he resolutely ignored
it.

"The bruise is just the right size and shape," the doctor said. "And
that cut on your head comes from the seams on the leather casing."

"You're sure?" Malone said doubtfully. It did seem as if a car had a
lot more dangerous weapons around, without resorting to blackjacks. If
it had really wanted to damage him, why hadn't it hit him with the
engine block?

"I'm sure," the doctor said. "I've worked in Emergency in this
hospital long enough to recognize a blackjack wound."

That was a disturbing idea, in a way. It gave a new color to Malone's
reflection on Greenwich Villagers. Maybe things had changed since he'd
heard about them. Maybe the blackjack had supplanted the guitar.

But that wasn't the important thing.

The fact that it had been a blackjack that had hit him _was_
important. It was vital, as a matter of fact. Malone knew that
perfectly well. It was a key fact in the case he was investigating.

The only trouble was that he didn't see what, if anything, it meant.

The doctor stepped back and regarded Malone's head with something like
pride. "There," he said. "You'll be all right now."

"A concussion?"

"Sure," the doctor said. "But it isn't serious. Just take these
pills--one every two hours until they're gone--and you'll be rid of
any effects within twenty-four hours." He went to a cabinet, fiddled
around for a minute, and came back with a small bottle containing six
orange pills. They looked very large and threatening.

"Fine," Malone said doubtfully.

"You'll be all right," the doctor said, giving Malone a cheerful,
confident grin. "Nothing at all to worry about." He loaded a hypojet
and blasted something through the skin of Malone's upper arm. Malone
swallowed hard. He knew perfectly well that he hadn't felt a thing but
he couldn't quite make himself believe it.

"That'll take care of you for tonight," the doctor said. "Get some
sleep and start in on the pills when you wake up, okay?"

"Okay," Malone said. It was going to make waking up something less
than a pleasure, but he wanted to get well, didn't he?

Of course he did. If that Cadillac thought it was going to beat him...

"You can stand up now," the doctor said.

"Okay," Malone said, trying it. "Thanks, Doctor. I--"

There was a knock at the door. The doc