"Well, it would be stretching the laws of probability all out of shape. But go ahead—I can see what's coming, I think."
"Each of those couples had one, and only one, child. We will call those children Jim Samms and Sally Olmstead; John Olmstead and Irene Samms."
The girl's levity disappeared. "James Alexander Samms and Sarah Olmstead Samms. Your parents. I didn't see what was coming, after all. This George Olmstead; then, is your...."
"Whatever it is, yes. I can't name it, either—maybe you had better call Genealogy some day and find out. But it's no wonder we look alike. And there are three of us, not two—George has an identical twin brother."
The red-haired Lensman stepped back into the inner office, shut the door, and Lensed a thought at Virgil Samms.
"It worked, Virgil! I talked to her for five solid minutes, practically leaning on her desk, and she didn't tumble! And if this wig of Bergenholm's fooled her so completely, the job he did on you would fool anybody!"
"Fine! I've done a little testing myself, on the keenest men I know, without a trace of recognition so far."
His last lingering doubt resolved, Samms boarded the ponderous, radiation-proof, neutron-proof shuttle-scow which was the only possible means of entering or leaving the Hill. A fast cruiser whisked him to Nampa, where Olmstead's "accidentally" damaged transcontinental transport was being repaired, and from which city Olmstead had been gone so briefly that no one had missed him. He occupied Olmstead's space; he surrendered the remainder of Olmstead's ticket. He reached New York. He took a 'copter to Senator Morgan's office. He was escorted into the private office of Herkimer Herkimer Third.
"Olmstead. Of Alphacent."
"Yes?" Herkimer's hand moved, ever so little, upon his desk's top.