Miss Jerrems came back, wheeling a large cart. Dan was surprised at the mass of records. Crander noticed his expression and smiled. "You're our prize case, Merrol. I've never heard of anyone else surviving such extensive surgery. Naturally, we have a step-by-step account of everything we did." He turned to the woman. "You may leave, Miss Jerrems." She went, but the adoration she had showed so openly for her employer seemed to have curdled in the last few moments. Crander dug into the files and rooted out photographs. "Here are pictures of the wreckage in which you were found--notice that you were strapped in your seat--as you were received into the hospital--at various stages in surgery and finally, some taken from the files of the company for which you worked." Merrol winced. The photographic sequence was incontrovertible. He had been a handsome fellow. "Here is other evidence you may not have heard of. It's a recent development, within the last ten years, in fact. It still isn't accepted by most courts--they're always lagging--but to medical men it's the last word." * * * * * Merrol studied the patterns of waves and lines and splotches. "What is it?" "Mass-cell radiographs. One was loaned by your employer. The other was taken just after your last operation. Both were corrected according to standard methods. One cell won't do it, ten yield an uncertain identity--but as few as a hundred cells from any part of the original body, excepting the blood, constitute proof more positive than fingerprints before the surgical exchange of limbs. Don't ask me why--no one knows. But it is true that cells differ from one body to the next, and this test detects the difference." The mass-cell radiographs did seem identical and Dr. Crander seemed certain. Taken altogether, the evidence was overwhelming. There had been no mistake--he was Dan Merrol, though it was not difficult to understand why Erica couldn't believe he was her husband. "You did a fine job," he said. Recalling the picture of the wreckage, he knew they had. "But couldn't you have done just a little better?" * * * * * Crander's eyebrows bounced up. "We're amazed at how well we have done. You can search case histories and find nothing comparable." His eyebrows dropped back into place. "Of course, if you have a specific complaint...." "Nothing specific. But look at this hand...." The doctor seized it. "Beautiful, isn't it?" "Perhaps--taken by itself." Dan rolled up his sleeve. "See how it joins the forearm." Crander waggled it gravely. "It coordinates perfectly. I've observed you have complete control over it. The doctor's eye, my boy. The doctor's diagnostic eye." The other just didn't understand. "But the size--it doesn't match my arm!"