"Mister, you've sure got some disguise," said the other man in an awed voice. "I could look right at you all day and not tell who it was."
It was no disguise, it was the multi-personality again. No one looked quite the same in real life as in a picture, because the personality was missing. And with him the difference was far more marked. The camera could register his features accurately, but men couldn't, not when he was actually there to inspire trust and respect—and he did arouse those emotions. Added together, these were some of the reasons why he hadn't hitherto been recognized.
"Sorry to have bothered you," he said, pushing between them as they converged on him. "I'm in a hurry."
"Sure, sure," said Carl, apologetically, moving aside.
"But he's money!" the man with the flashlight cried in an anguished voice.
"So he is!" said Carl. The vision of money seemed to carry a lot of weight with him. He seemed reluctant to act, but he reached out and swung Merrol around. "We'll take you to Interplanet and then you can go to the hospital. Don't worry, we aren't going to do nothing. It don't pay us to hurt you."
Their original intentions were probably sincere, but now that they thought they'd found money on the street, they weren't willing to let it go. But Merrol was not going to accompany them to Interplanet. He jerked away.
"We'll split the reward," said Carl. "Too bad we got to carry him in."
Merrol tried to elude him, but Carl caught his arm in a bone-cracking hold. That is, it ought to have splintered bone. That it didn't was not due to lack of skill, but to the proportions of the arm to which it was applied. The advantage of leverage went to Merrol and he used it. He broke loose and swung the long arm with the large fist and Carl went down.