Sands took the pipe from his mouth and knocked the ashes out against the sole of his shoe. Pulling a sack of tobacco thoughtfully from his hip pocket, he began to refill it. "Blan had a theory," he said, "that doubling of chromosomes in animals in the past could have given rise to new species and explain a lot of gaps in evolution. Man has 48 chromosomes in every cell, and Blan pointed out to me that 48 is double 24, which is double 12, which is double six, which is double three. He thought that was too much of a coincidence. I reckon I do, too." He paused and struck a wooden match, holding it against the bowl of his pipe and sucking noisily. "I don't hold with the evolutionary theory," said Truggles stiffly. "What I really wanted to ask you, Mayor Sands, was whether you are aware that Blan Forsythe is practicing polygamy, right here in Marston Hill?" "You've been listening to those old hens gossip," accused Sands. "Look, I knew Blan right well when he was married to Phyllis Allison. Phyllis is my niece and I was sorry to see them break up, but the young people have to live their own lives. Blan has some ideas us old stick-in-the-muds might not understand, Mr. Truggles, but he's all right." "A dozen women live with him in that big house of his," insisted Truggles. "I've found out there's a turnover, too. When one moves out, another moves in." "I don't poke my nose into other people's business," said Sands bluntly. "But Dr. Allison tells me Blan maintains a staff, and it's convenient for them to live in that big house. He's doing biological research, along the lines I just explained." "Biological research, I have no doubt," said Truggles, assuming his best organ-like tone. He fixed his blue eyes on Sands, but Sands' eyes were just as blue. They showed a gleam of anger. "You refuse to take any action against this abomination, then, Mayor?" "I refuse to believe idle rumors," said Sands firmly. "And before you attempt to stir things up around here with your Social Standards Protective League, Mr. Truggles, I would recommend that you make some effort to secure accurate information. Dr. Allison is Blan's research assistant, and he can tell you much more of Blan's current experiments than I can." Truggles bowed slightly and turned away. The sharp scent of the marigolds tickled his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. "Dr. Allison," said Sands behind him, raising his voice slightly as Truggles walked away, "may even consent to tell you why Blan Forsythe's face is liver-colored. From what I hear of you, Mr. Truggles, that probably is your principal complaint against him." Truggles straightened as though stabbed between the shoulder blades. He quickened his pace.