nd somehow, grotesquely, there were indications that a man with two
hearts might help to provide the answer.

* * * * *

The tape recorder stuck to the bottom of the Taber conference coffeepot
had cost Senator Crane a hundred dollars. He had now listened to it four
times and was pacing the floor of his office, scowling darkly at the
walls. An android! What in hell was an android? What kind of a stupid,
impossible thing was this?

In a flash of panic, Crane wondered if it was all a diabolical
machination of Brent Taber's. Maybe Taber knew all about the recorder.
Maybe the whole meeting was an elaborate plant to maneuver an earnest,
alert senator into making a public fool of himself. Taber was certainly
capable of such a thing.

And that was how it had begun to look. Still, that was ridiculous. The
Army, the Navy, the Air Force--they were all involved. Only
Congress--the true representatives of the people--had been ignored. And,
by God, he'd do something about it!

Crane stopped pacing but continued to scowl at the wall. Now, what
department of research could find him some data on androids?

* * * * *

Les King was awakened by a knock on his door. He rolled over, blinked
and looked at his watch. A little after two in the afternoon, which was
equivalent to midnight for Les. He pulled on his robe and went to the
door and opened it.

He blinked.

Sure, no doubt about it. The man standing there was the one he'd snapped
on Park Avenue the other A.M., lying among a bunch of pigeons,
with a broken leg. But evidently that hadn't been the case because his
legs were okay now. It couldn't even have been a sprain, judging by the
way he was standing there. He was a fairly tall, good-looking guy in his
middle forties maybe--brown hair, blue eyes with a kind of vacant look
about them.

And there was something else, goddamn it; something that kept evading
Les; something that had bothered him when he'd first developed the
print. _Let's see, what is this guy's name? The ambulance intern found
it in his jacket pocket on a half-torn identification card. William
Matson._

But, damn it, there was something else.

"Mr. Lester--King?"

"Right. What can I do for you?"

"I had trouble in locating--you. I wish to make a--purchase."

Queer duck. Damned queer. "What can I sell you?"

"You are a--photographer. You took a picture of a man injured on
Park--Avenue. I wish