counterfeit as I am!"

"I claim that there are no men in a black sedan."

"Oh?"

"Tell me, Carroll, how do you rationalize the fact of two Sallys?"

"I think there is something to all this that is far deeper than our five senses will admit," said Carroll flatly. "Some agency is doing all it can to prevent us from finding out about the Lawson Radiation!"

Pollard scribbled "persecution complex, too," on his scratchpad in a brand of his own unreadable shorthand. Then he said, "You're convinced to the contrary?"

"I am."

"Tell you what I'll do," said Pollard. "Since you think this affair is what you claim, I'm going to give you a chance to prove it. I'm going to advance Sally into the mailing department and let you take over the job of delivering those reports yourself. You feel that they might not be able to pull the wool over your eyes?"

"You know what I think?" said Carroll sharply. "I think that the days that I joined Sally for her sandwich I took a ride with her in that car, instead!"

"How do you come to that conclusion?" asked the psychologist, scribbling on his scratchpad.

"Because every day that I watched I saw her enter the car. Every day I was with her we saw no car. Could it be mass-hypnosis?"

"It might—but why weren't you hypnotized?"

"I don't know. Why have I got this amnesia?"

"It isn't amnesia anymore," said the psychologist ruefully. "It is now a definite psychic block against your former line of work, coupled with self-justified hallucination."

"I hate to puncture that bubble," said Pollard. "But I must. Take that job and find out for yourself!"

"I will," said James Carroll flatly. "You watch!"

"Good!"

"And I will not be stopping for sandwiches, either!" snapped Carroll. "Or, I might add, anything else!"

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