"Sure, sure. I understand," Moody said. "You'll have to pay me for the appointment, though."
"Of course," Judd said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out some bills. "How much is it?"
"Fifty dollars."
"Fifty - ?" Judd swallowed angrily, peeled off some bills and thrust them in Moody's hand. Moody counted the money carefully.
"Thanks a lot," Moody said. Judd started toward the door, feeling like a fool. "Doctor..."
Judd turned. Moody was smiling at him benevolently, tucking the money into the pocket of his waistcoat. "As long as you're stuck for the fifty dollars," he said mildly, "you might as well sit down and tell me what your problem is. I always say that nothin' takes more weight off than gettin' things off your chest."
The irony of it, coming from this silly fat man, almost made Judd laugh. Judd's whole life was devoted to listening to people get things off their chests. He studied Moody a moment. What could he lose? Perhaps talking it out with a stranger would help. Slowly he went back to his chair and sat down.
"You look like you're carryin' the weight of the world, Doc. I always say that four shoulders are better than two."
Judd was not certain how many of Moody's aphorisms he was going to be able to stand.
Moody was watching him. "What brought you here? Women, or money? I always say if you took away women and money, you'd solve most of the world's problems right there." Moody was eyeing him, waiting for an answer.
"I - I think someone is trying to kill me."
Blue eyes blinked. "You think?"
Judd brushed the question aside. "Perhaps you could give me the name of someone who specializes in investigating that kind of thing."
"I certainly can," Moody said. "Norman Z. Moody. Best in the country."
Judd sighed in despair.
"Why don't you tell me about it, Doc?" Moody suggested. "Let's see if the two of us can't sort it out a little."
Judd had to smile in spite of himself. It sounded so much like himself. Just lie down and say anything that comes into your mind. Why not? He took a deep breath and, as concisely as possible, told Moody the events of the past few days. As he spoke, he forgot that Moody was there. He was really speaking to himself, putting into words the baffling things that had occurred. He carefully said nothing to Moody about his fears for his own sanity. When Judd had finished, Moody regarded him happily.
"You got yourself a dilly of a problem there. Either somebody's out to murder you, or you're afraid that you're becoming a schizophrenic paranoiac."
Judd looked up in surprise. Score one for Norman Z. Moody.
Moody went on. "You said there are two detectives on the case. Do you remember their names?"
Judd hesitated. He was reluctant to get too deeply committed to this man. All he really wanted to do was get out of there. "Frank Angeli," he answered, "and Lieutenant McGreavy."
There was an almost imperceptible change in Moody's expression.
"What reason would anyone have to kill you, Doc?"
"I have no idea. As far as I know, I haven't any enemies."
"Oh, come on. Everybody's got a few enemies layin' around. I always say enemies give a little salt to the bread of life."
Judd tried not to wince.
"Married?"
"No," Judd said.
"Are you a fairy?"
Judd sighed. "Look, I've been through all this with the police and - "
"Yeah. Only you're payin' me to help you," Moody said, unperturbed. "Owe anybody any money?"
"Just the normal monthly bills."
"What about your patients?"
"What about them?"
"Well, I always say if you're lookin' for seashells, go down to the seashore. Your patients are a lot of loonies. Right?"
"Wrong," Judd said curtly. "They're people with problems."
"Emotional problems that they can't solve themselves. Could one of them have it in for you? Oh, not for any real reason, but maybe somebody with an imaginary grievance against you."
"It's possible. Except for one thing. Most of my patients have been under my care for a year or more. In that length of time I've gotten to know them as well as one human being can know another."
"Don't they never get mad at you?" Moody asked innocently.
"Sometimes. But we're not looking for someone who's angry. We're looking for a homicidal paranoiac who has murdered at least two people and has made several attempts to murder me." He hesitated, then made himself go on. "If I have a patient like that and don't know it, then you're looking at the most incompetent psychoanalyst who ever lived."
He looked up and saw Moody studying him.
"I always say first things first," Moody said cheerfully. "The first thing we've gotta do is find out whether someone's trying to knock you off, or whether you're nuts. Right, Doc?" He broke into a broad smile, taking the offense out of his words.
"How?" Judd asked.
"Simple," Moody said. "Your problem is, you're standin' at home plate strikin' at curve balls, an' you don't know if anyone's pitchin'. First we're gonna find out if there's a ballgame goin' on; then we're gonna find out who the players are. You got a car?"
"Yes."
Judd had forgotten about walking out and finding another private detective. He sensed now behind Moody's bland, innocent face and his homespun maxims a quiet, intelligent capability.
"I think your nerves are shot," Moody said. "I want you to take a little vacation."