he door swung open and a man stepped out, closing the door before luis could see inside.

he had erred—the man was not dorn starret.

the other eyed him keenly. "mr. chals putsyn? please sit down."

luis did so slowly, giving himself time to complete a mental inventory. the man had to be dorn starret—and yet he wasn't. no disguise could be that effective. at least three inches shorter; the shape of his head was different; his body was slighter. moreover, he was right-handed, not left, as starret was.

luis had a story ready—names, dates, and circumstances. it sounded authentic even to himself.

the man listened impatiently. "i may not be able to help you," he said, interrupting. "oddly enough, light cases are hardest. it's the serious memory blocks that i specialize in." there was something strange about his eyes—his voice too. "however, if you can come back in two days, late in the afternoon, i'll see what i can do."

luis took the appointment card and found himself firmly ushered to the door. it was disturbing; luise was in the next room, but the man gave him no opportunity to see her.

he stood uncertainly in the hall. the whole interview had taken only a few minutes, and during that time all his previous ideas had been upset. if the man was not dorn starret, who was he and what was his connection? the criminal from ceres was not so foolish as to attempt to solve his problems by assigning them to another person. this was a one-man job from beginning to end, or ought to be.

luis took the elevator to the ground floor and walked out aimlessly on the street. there was something queer about the man on the top floor. it took time to discover what it was.

the man was not starret—but he was disguised. his irises were stained another color and the voice was not his own—or rather it was, but filtered through an artificial larynx inserted painfully in his throat. and his face had been recently swabbed with a chemical irritant which caused the tissues beneath his skin to swell, making his face appear plumper.

luis took a deep breath. unconsciously he had noticed details too slight for the average person to discern. this suggested something about his own past—that he was trained to recognize disguises.

but more important was this: that the man was disguised at all. the reason was obvious—to avoid evoking memories.

the man's name—what was it? it hadn't even been registered in the building—he'd asked on his way out. and luise couldn't tell him. she was no longer a reliable source of information. he had to find out, and there was only one way that suggested itself.

luise was still in there, but not in physical danger. the police were lax about other things, but not about murder, and the man knew that. she might lose her memories of the past few weeks; regrettable if it happened, but not a catastrophe.

but who was the man and what was his connection?

he spent the rest of the day buying equipment—not much, but his money dwindled rapidly. he considered going back to the shelter and then decided against it. by this time luise would be back, and he would be tempted not to leave her.

after dark, when the lights in the offices went out, he rented an aircar and set it down on the top of the building.