There would be a practical side as well, a great advantage to be able to work with a man who thought as you did, who would be almost a second self. It would be almost as if there were two of you.
A thing like that could be arranged. Plastic surgery and a price for secrecy could make your duplicate into an unrecognizable other person. A little red tape, some finagling… but it could be done. It was a proposition that Henderson James, duplicate, thought would interest Henderson James, original. Or at least he hoped it would.
The room with the light could be reached with a little luck, with strength and agility and determination. The brick expanse of a chimney, its base cloaked by shrubs, its length masked by a closely growing tree, ran up the wall. A man could climb its rough brick face, could reach out and swing himself through the open window into the lighted room.
And once Henderson James, original, stood face to face with Henderson James, duplicate … well, it would be less of a gamble. The duplicate then would no longer be an impersonal factor. He would be a man and one that was very close to his original.
There would be watchers, but they would be watching the front door. If he were quiet, if he could reach and climb the chimney without making any noise, he’d be in the room before anyone would notice.
He drew back deeper in the shadows and considered. It was either get into the room and face his original, hope to be able to strike a compromise with him, or simply to light out… to run and hide and wait, watching his chance to get completely away, perhaps to some far planet in some other part of the Galaxy.
Both ways were a gamble, but one was quick, would either succeed or fail within the hour; the other might drag on for months with a man never knowing whether he was safe, never being sure.
Something nagged at him, a persistent little fact that skittered through his brain and eluded his efforts to pin it down. It might be important and then, again, it might be a random thing, simply a floating piece of information that was looking for its pigeonhole.
His mind shrugged it off.
The quick way or the long way?
He stood thinking for a moment and then moved swiftly down the street, seeking a place where he could cross in shadow.
He had chosen the short way.
IV
The room was empty.
He stood beside the window, quietly, only his eyes moving, searching every corner, checking against a situation that couldn’t seem quite true… that Henderson James was not here, waiting for the word.
Then he strode swiftly to the bedroom door and swung it open. His finger found the switch and the lights went on. The bedroom was empty and so was the bath. He went back into the study.
He stood with his back against the wall, facing the door that led into the hallway, but his eyes went over the room, foot by foot, orienting himself, feeling himself flow into the shape and form of it, feeling familiarity creep in upon him and enfold him in its comfort of belonging.
Here were the books, the fireplace with its mantel loaded with souvenirs, the easy chairs, the liquor cabinet… and all were a part of him, a background that was as much a part of Henderson James as his body and his inner thoughts were a part of him.
This, he thought, is what I would have missed, the experience I never would have had if the puudly had not taunted me. I would have died an empty and unrelated body that bad no actual place in the universe.
The phone purred at him and he stood there startled by it, as if some intruder from the outside had pushed its way into the room, shattering the sense of belonging that had come to him.
The phone rang again and he went across the room and picked it up.
“James speaking,” he said.
“That you, Mr. James?”
The voice was that of Anderson, the gardener.
“Why, yes,” said the duplicate. “Who did you think it was?”
“We got a fellow here who says he’s you.”
Henderson James, duplicate, stiffened with fright and his hand, suddenly, was grasping the phone so hard that he found the time to wonder why it did not pulverize to bits beneath his fingers.
“He’s dressed like you,” the gardener said, “and I knew you went out. Talked to you, remember? Told you that you shouldn’t? Not with us waiting for that… that thing.”
“Yes,” said the duplicate, his voice so even that he could not believe it was he who spoke. “Yes, certainly I remember talking with you.”
“But, sir, how did you get back?”
“I came in the back way,” the even voice said into the phone. “Now what’s holding you back?”
“He’s dressed like you.”
“Naturally. Of course he would be, Anderson.”
And that, to be sure, didn’t quite follow, but Anderson wasn’t too bright to start with and now he was somewhat upset.
“You remember,” the duplicate said, “that we talked about it.”
“I guess I was excited and forgot,” admitted Anderson.
“You told me to call you, to make sure you were in your study, though. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?”
“You’ve called me,” the duplicate said, “and I am here.”
“Then the other one out here is him?”
“Of course,” said the duplicate. “Who else could it be?” He put the phone back into the cradle and stood waiting.
It came a moment after, the dull, throaty cough of a gun. He walked to a chair and sank into it, spent with the knowledge of how events had so been ordered that now, finally, he was safe, safe beyond all question.
Soon he would have to change into other clothes, hide the gun and the clothes that he was wearing. The staff would ask no questions, most likely, but it was best to let nothing arouse suspicion in their minds.
He felt his nerves quieting and lie allowed himself to glance about the room, take in the books and furnishings, the soft and easy… and earned… comfort of a man solidly and unshakably established in the world.
He smiled softly.
“It will be nice,” he said.
It had been easy. Now that it was over, it seemed ridiculously easy. Easy because he had never seen the man who had walked up to the door. It was easy to kill a man you have never seen.
With each passing hour he would slip deeper and deeper into the personality that was his by right of heritage. There would be no one to question, after a time not even himself, that he was Henderson James.
The phone rang again and he got up to answer it. A pleasant voice told him, “This is Allen, over at the duplication lab. We’ve been waiting for a report from you.”
“Well,” said James, “I…”
“I just called,” interrupted Allen, “to tell you not to worry. It slipped my mind before.”
“I see,” said James, though he didn’t.
“We did this one a little differently,” Allen explained.
“An experiment that we thought we’d try out. Slow poison in his bloodstream. Just another precaution. Probably not necessary, but we like to be positive. In case he fails to show up, you needn’t worry any.”
“I am sure he will show up.”
Allen chuckled. “Twenty-four hours. Like a time bomb. No antidote for it even if he found out somehow.”
“It was good of you to let me know,” said James. “Glad to,” said Allen. “Good night, Mr. James.”