“Indeed?” I let it go at that and looked around me. It was an expensive suite, as I had expected, but it was littered and there were at least a dozen used glasses and as many coffee cups scattered here and there; it took no skill to see that I was merely the latest of many visitors. Sprawled on a couch, scowling at me, was another man, whom I tabbed tentatively as a spaceman. I glanced inquiringly but no introduction was offered.
“Well, you’re here, at least. Let’s get down to business.”
“Surely. Which brings to mind,” I added, “there was mention of a bonus, or retainer.”
“Oh, yes.” He turned to the man on the couch. “Jock, pay him.”
“For what?”
“Pay him!”
I now knew which one was boss-although, as I was to learn, there was usually little doubt when Dak Broadbent was in a room. The other fellow stood up quickly, still scowling, and counted Out to me a fifty and five tens. I tucked it away casually without checking it and said, “I am at your disposal, gentlemen.”
The big man chewed his lip. “First, I want your solemn oath not even to talk in your sleep about this job.”
“If my simple word is not good, is my oath better?” I glanced at the smaller man, slouched again on the couch. “I don’t believe we have met. I am Lorenzo.”
He glanced at me, looked away. My barroom acquaintance said hastily, “Names don’t matter in this.”
“No? Before my revered father died he made me promise him three things: first, never to mix whisky with anything but water; second, always to ignore anonymous letters; and lastly, never to talk with a stranger who refuses to give his name. Good day, sirs.” I turned toward the door, their hundred Imperials warm in my pocket.
“Hold it!” I paused. He went on, “You are perfectly right. My name is-”
“Skipper!”
“Stow it, Jock. I’m Dak Broadbent; that’s Jacques Dubois glaring at us. We’re both voyageurs-master pilots, all classes, any acceleration.”
I bowed. “Lorenzo Smythe,” I said modestly, “jongleur and artist-care of The Lambs Club.” I made a mental note to pay my dues.
“Good. Jock, try smiling for a change. Lorenzo, you agree to keep our business secret?”
“Under the rose. This is a discussion between gentlemen.”
“Whether you take the job or not?”
“Whether we reach agreement or not. I am human, but, short of illegal methods of questioning, your confidences are sale with me.”
“I am well aware of what neodexocaine will do to a man’s forebrain, Lorenzo. We don’t expect the impossible.”
“Dak,” Dubois said urgently, “this is a mistake. We should at least–”
“Shut up, Jock. I want no hypnotists around at this point. Lorenzo, we want you to do an impersonation job. It has to be so perfect that no one-I mean no one-will ever know it took place. Can you do that sort of a job?”
I frowned. “The first question is not ‘Can I?’ but ‘Will I?’ What are the circumstances?”
“Uh, we’ll go into details later. Roughly, it is the ordinary doubling job for a well-known public figure. The difference is that the impersonation will have to be so perfect as to fool people who know him well and must see him close up. It won’t be just reviewing a parade from a grandstand, or pinning medals on girl scouts.” He looked at me shrewdly. “It will take a real artist.”
“No,” I said at once.
“Huh? You don’t know anything about the job yet. If your conscience is bothering you, let me assure you that you will not be working against the interests of the man you will impersonate-nor against anyone’s legitimate interests. This is a job that really needs to be done.”
“No.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake, why? You don’t even know how much we will pay.”
“Pay is no object,” I said firmly. “I am an actor, not a double.”
“I don’t understand you. There are lots of actors picking up spare money making public appearances for celebrities.”
“I regard them as prostitutes, not colleagues. Let me make myself clear. Does an author respect a ghost writer? Would you respect a painter who allowed another man to sign his work-for money? Possibly the spirit of the artist is foreign to you, sir, yet perhaps I may put it in terms germane to your own profession. Would you, simply for money, be content to pilot a ship while some other man, not possessing your high art, wore the uniform, received the credit, was publicly acclaimed as the Master? Would you?”