“Hello there,” I said as I mowed my beard with an electric razor. “Have I got a hangover or have I?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Ansell said, sitting on the foot of the bed. “I’m not happy about certain things.”
“What things?”
“That girl in the photograph,” Ansell said slowly, “how do you explain she’s the image of Myra?”
I selected a necktie and wandered over to the mirror. “I don’t,” I said.
“That’s just the point. She hasn’t a twin and you’ll never make me believe that some other girl, no relation of hers, could look like her.”
“Well, that’s what’s happened,” I said. “Maybe, Shumway got hold of an actress who’s made herself up to look like Myra. A guy like him would do a lot for all that dough.”
Ansell shook his head, “I think there’s more in it than that,” he said, “I’m not saying you haven’t hit on the explanation, but I don’t think so.”
“Quit beating about the bush,” I said, facing him, “what are you getting at?”
“Haven’t you noticed a change in the girl recently?” he asked.