"Years ago, my eye. Less than fifteen minutes ago—"
"I did not."
"You did."
"Not me." Paul's feeling of airy well-being came down a few thousand feet and mired in a cumulus cloud.
"Look, Grayson, you came in a taxicab and breezed in here about fifteen minutes ago as though you had only a minute to spare."
"You're thinking of someone else."
"Your picture said Paul Grayson, and so did your identification. How else would I be knowing you?"
"You've seen me often enough."
"Maybe. But don't forget that I see a few thousand people every day. And I know you only well enough to know that you do own bona fide credentials. You've got 'em?"
"I—" Paul blinked. A great searing light was starting to cut through the cobwebs of his brain. The airy feeling of well-being dropped below the cumulus cloud and made a one-point landing on strictly solid ground. "Look," he said soberly. "You claim a man came through here a few minutes ago, resembling me?"