The name on the clipboard list above his was: Pontius Pilate, Rome, 12 A.D.
And when he looked up at the scowling little man who was now holding the package out to him and extending a hand to receive back his clipboard and pencil, Joe saw that he was holding the package out with two right arms and reaching for the clipboard with two left arms!
Joe fell back a step. "Who in blazes are you?"
"Time Deliveries, Incorporated," the little man chanted. "We guarantee deliveries to anyone, anywhere, any time. Here's your package, Mr. Linger."
"B-but," Joe stammered, "where'd you come from?"
The little man lifted his lower left hand and fingered his pointed chin. A gleam entered his blue eyes. "Originally, I came from Ursula Major," he said. "That's 3428 A.D., by the present calendar. Now, do you accept this package or—"
"I—I accept!" Joe blurted, grabbing for the package. In his haste, he dropped the clipboard and pencil, but four hands deftly snatched them up before they hit the floor.
"Very well," said the little man. "Good day, Mr. Linger!" He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut.
Joe stood frozen with the large square package clutched to his chest. Then he lunged forward, wrenched at the doorknob, jerked the door open, and leaped out into the hall. "Hey-y-y-y!" his shout wavered off into weak dismay.
The hallway was empty.