Horning cut him off with a short, decisive gesture. "I don't want to hear it." The man with Horning's face took one fast step forward. His head seemed to draw down between his shoulders. "And I say you're going to hear it, whether you want to or not!" he snapped harshly. He swung the gun in a threatening arc. "I don't intend to have gone through all of this for nothing." * * * * * Horning hooked his thumbs in his belt and met the other's cold eyes with all the bravado he could muster. He said nothing. "I merely propose that we switch wives," his counterpart clipped. "Switch wives--!" Shock startled the words from Horning. "Could anything be simpler? Here are two women, completely identical. Both are stupid, both termagants in their own right. So, each falls asleep tonight in her own world. In the morning, she wakes up in another." Horning twisted at his belt. Narrow-eyed, frowning, he stared at his visitor. "But why--?" The man's thin lips parted in a mirthless grin. "How would you feel if, stupid and knowing nothing of transdimensional transit, you were suddenly to awaken in a completely strange world? What would be your chances of making a successful adjustment?" "I ... I don't know...." "Adjustment to environment is the key to integration of personality. When anyone loses touch with his world, the background he knows as reality, he can no longer adjust." Horning's counterpart paused. His voice dropped a note. "Every plane has facilities to take care of such unfortunates." The skin along the back of Horning's neck prickled. "You mean ... Myrtle would go mad?" he whispered hoarsely. "That's what the psychiatrists would say, at least." A new tremor shook Horning. Unsteadily, he made his way to the chair by the desk and slumped into it. His other self chuckled. "It's beautiful, isn't it? All you need to do is call the authorities in the morning. They'll take Myrtle to the nearest mental hospital for observation--and that's the last you'll ever see of her." Horning's collar was all at once too tight. His palms grew wet with icy sweat. His coexisting self leaned back against the light-loop's control panel. The pistol hung loose at his side. "We have an undetectable anesthetic in my world," he observed. "A few drops of it on a handkerchief, pressed over your Myrtle's face tonight, will make her sleep as soundly as my wife is sleeping over there." He nodded to the still figure on the floor. Horning scrubbed the sweat from his hands against his pant-legs. Shivering, he ran his fingers through his hair. "You'll be free to follow your research, wherever it leads you," his counterpart murmured dreamily. "For me, I'll have my Myrtle's fortune to console me." He laughed softly. "What could be simpler, or sweeter?"