or beneath the lockers until
he found his key. The briefcase was under his arm a minute later.

In the basement lave he put a coin in the pay slot of a private
compartment and went in.

As he zipped open the briefcase he surveyed his features in the mirror.
A small muscle at the corner of one eye twitched spasmodically. One
cheek wore a frozen quarter smile. Thirty-six hours under the paralysis
was longer than advisable. The muscles should be rested at least every
twenty hours.

Fortunately his natural features would serve as an adequate disguise
now.

He adjusted the ring setting on the pistol-shaped instrument that he
took from his case, and carefully rayed several small areas of his face,
loosening muscles that had been tight too long. He sighed gratefully
when he finished, massaging his cheeks and forehead with considerable
pleasure. Another glance in the mirror satisfied him with the changes
that had been made. He turned to his briefcase again and exchanged the
gun for a small syringe, which he pushed into a trouser pocket, and a
single-edged razor blade.

Removing his fiber-cloth jacket he slashed it into strips with the razor
blade and flushed it down the disposal bowl. With the sleeves of his
blouse rolled up he had the appearance of a typical workman as he
strolled from the compartment.

Back at the locker he replaced the briefcase and, with a wad of gum,
glued the key to the bottom of the locker frame.

One step more. Taking the syringe from his pocket, he plunged the needle
into his forearm and tossed the instrument down a waste chute. He took
three more steps and paused uncertainly.

When he looked about him it was with the expression of a man waking from
a vivid dream.

"Quite ingenious," Graves murmured admiringly. "You had your mind
already preconditioned for the shot. But why would you deliberately give
yourself amnesia?"

"What better disguise than to believe the part you're playing?"

"A good man must have done that job on your mind," Bergstrom commented.
"I'd have hesitated to try it myself. It must have taken a lot of trust
on your part."

"Trust and money," Zarwell said drily.

"Your memory's back then?"

Zarwell nodded.

"I'm glad to hear that," Bergstrom assured him. "Now that you're well
again I'd like to introduce you to a man named Vernon Johnson. This
world ..."

Zarwell stopped him with an upraised hand. "Good God, man, can't you see
the reason for all this? I'm tired