The blood-fluid spouted out and drained down over the chest of the ninth android. He shuddered. His eyes closed. When the tenth android released his grip, the head fell forward. And from somewhere in the synthetically created mind of the tenth android there came a question: Was it undesirable to become nonfunctioning? The human was afraid to die. He sensed this but not the reason for it, if there was one. The human was afraid to die. He wondered only momentarily, vaguely recorded it as a mistake to wonder about such things, and then crossed the room and put the red-stained knife into the sink. After that, he let himself quietly out of the apartment and walked off down the street. He had much to do. He had to leave town and finish the project alone. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped, stepped into a nearby doorway and stood motionless. There was no change in his expression except that possibly his eyes became a shade emptier. After a while he left the doorway and moved on. But it was with new purpose and with new plans. The new orders, relayed across a light-year of space, were not intercepted by any terrestrial receiving device, however sensitive. But they were received and recorded perfectly in the mind of the tenth android. * * * * * Frank Corson and Les King sat in a coffee shop and regarded each other with a certain wariness. "It's like this, at least from where I sit," King said. "About ten years ago a small-town judge named Sam Baker--" "You told me that," Corson cut in impatiently. "Baker was supposed to have been drowned, but they never found the body. Now, you think William Matson is Sam Baker?" King pondered the question morosely. "I've got every right to think so. But Baker would have aged some in ten years. The man I saw--" "The man you saw didn't have a broken leg. I must have seen the same one when I--" King was instantly alert. When you were on the trail of ten grand you had to be alert, and suspicious of comparative strangers. "You saw someone who looked like Baker and Matson? A guy without a broken leg?" "I was leaving an apartment building on the Upper East Side this morning. I met him in the street." "You didn't tell me that." "I'm telling you now." King scowled. "I don't get it. You were the doctor. You left a man with a broken leg in bed in a hospital. You saw a man who looked like--" "I saw the same man, goddamn it!" "All right--the same man. And you didn't do anything about it? You didn't say _Good morning_ or _It might rain_ or _What the hell are you doing out of bed?_ You just let him walk away?" "You're being unreasonable. When you come face to face with something that's impossible, you don't treat it as a fact. It throws you off balance." King continued to scowl. "We're not getting anywhere. Let's face it. It _was_ impossible. Let's get the hell up to your room and talk to William Matson." "All right."