"Eh?"
"Use your eyes, blockhead. I am Pashkov."
Zubov did use his eyes. He looked from one to the other, and back. The more he focused, the more his eyes crossed. "Eh?"
Colonel James sat calmly on the bed. He said, "Carry him out."
Zubov lifted Pashkov off the floor, crashed with his weight against the wall, but held on, grinned and staggered with Pashkov in his arms to the window.
"You miserable idiot," Pashkov shouted. "You'll get a rest cure for this!"
Zubov dropped him, pulled his gun and backed off into a corner. "How can I tell you two apart just by looking!" he cried hysterically. "I'm not a learned man."
"One small but decisive proof," Pashkov said, unbuttoning his hospital gown. "I have a mole."
Zubov yanked the colonel up by an arm. "Send me to rest cures, will you?"
Colonel James sighed. "I guess we have to keep up appearances," he muttered, and climbed out the window into the hovering ambulance. Zubov leaped in after, and they were off.