I had a hasty dinner at the cafe across the street, then caught another taxi to my apartment house.
Dismissing the taxi, I walked down the driveway to the line of garage stalls. In the back of mine, I knew, was a packing case I could sit in and wait, and no one could see me.
I was restless and uncomfortable. My shoulder ached a little again. I finally relaxed, and began to feel drowsy. I fought against sleep. A car entering the stall would awaken me, but that wasn't what I was afraid of. I was afraid that if I went to sleep I would awaken as someone else, somewhere else.
I had about decided to go out front and walk up and down to keep awake, when I heard a car coming. It turned into my stall. I jerked my head back and kept out of sight until I heard the car door open and close.
Then I risked a look. A man was locking the car door, and that man was Orville Snyder. My only surprise was that I wasn't surprised. Some part of my mind had expected that.
The more I thought of it the more obvious it became. Orville Snyder was also Fred Martin. He was living a double life!
I watched him leave the garage. Should I follow him to his apartment—my apartment? Of course, I knew I was going to. I had to. I gave him five minutes, then followed slowly, until I reached the door of the apartment and stopped.
I could hear him moving around inside, humming cheerfully. I felt a regret at having to disturb him in his secret existence, but I had to. I was Fred Martin. He was Fred Martin. He was also Orville Snyder, and I wasn't. And right now I was Dave Thordsen, too, and he would know me as Dave Thordsen.
I lifted my fist, feeling a stab of rheumatism in my shoulder, and knocked at the door.
There was an instant of silence as he stopped humming. Then there were footsteps. A lock grated. The doorknob twisted. He opened the door and looked at me, his eyes going very wide suddenly.