"That's right," Marc mused. "Whatever it is, it seems to be in splendid working order."

"Too damn splendid," Toffee agreed.

"Maybe we should assert ourselves," Marc suggested. "Maybe we could throw it out."

"I, personally," Toffee replied firmly, "would rather slash my wrists than lay a finger to the clammy thing."

"As I recall," a voice said hollowly from across the room, "you didn't mind in the least laying a finger to me a while ago. And a shockingly intimate finger it was too. In fact I was quite embarrassed by it. And if you two mental cases really want something to do, I suggest you open up that window and throw yourselves out into the street. Your feeble-minded gibbering is keeping me awake."

Marc and Toffee nearly collided as they swung about. Then, in perfect unison, they gasped. The figure, now graced with a head, was glaring at them evilly.

"Wha ... who?" Marc sputtered. Turning away, slightly, he passed a trembling hand over his eyes, then looked again. "OOooo!" He looked like a man who'd just received a ball bat across the stomach. The face into which he gazed was an exact duplicate of his own. It was like looking at his own reflection ... only there wasn't any mirror.

"You," the figure observed dryly, "sound like a bilious Indian. For that matter you may be one, for all I know. But, in any case, if you can't say anything intelligent, please go away. I'm very tired."

This seemed to jolt Marc out of his state of temporary paralysis. With the air of one who had had quite enough, he stepped forward and leveled a long finger at the figure in the chair. "Who ... who are you?" he asked.

"Why, I'm...." The figure turned and regarded Marc closely for the first time. A look of astonishment came into its face. "Who are you?" it countered suspiciously.

"I'm Marc Pillsworth," Marc returned impatiently. "This is my office. And whoever you are, and whatever kind of trick you think you're playing, I'll thank you to clear out before I call the police and have you dragged out ... er ... bodily." He cleared his throat uneasily. "A section at a time if need be."

Suddenly the figure was on its feet, staring at Marc in unmixed alarm.

"You're lying," it said. "You can't be Marc 

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