Keys! Gorfmann kept a spare set of keys in his desk!
Osternak ran out of the accounts office and up the stairs to the corridor where Gorfmann's office was situated. Sure enough, there was a shadowy figure at the far end. He started running toward it, expecting it to flee; but it ran toward him, evidently expecting the same thing. It was the other Osternak, who, not surprisingly, had thought the same thing.
“His car's still there. I checked from the accounts office window,” Osternak One panted.
“I know it is,” Osternak Two replied. “So did I."
The door of Gorfmann's office was open, the light was on, and the top drawer of the desk had been pulled out. There were no keys in it.
“He must be on his way down. We have to try and catch him in the lobby,” Osternak One cried. “You take the back stairs. I'll take the front.” He rushed out again to the end of the building and scampered back down the front stairs. When he was almost down to ground level, he saw a figure in a topcoat and evening dress, its tie loosened, reeling drunkenly some distance away from him in the open lounge area outside the upper floor of the library. There could be no mistake this time. He started in that direction, and in the same instant Gorfmann saw him. “Rudi, stop,” he called. But Gorfmann vanished down a side staircase. Osternak followed as fast as he could, but when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Gorfmann had gone. There were several directions he could have taken, but the two most probable, if he was going for his car, were either through to the lobby or out the library side door. Osternak picked the latter and followed the gravel path outside around a corner of the building to the parking area. Yes, there was a figure under the shrubs, near Gorfmann's car. Osternak started running toward it.
But instead of trying to escape, the figure stepped forward and called out, “Who are you? What do you want?"
Osternak halted in sudden confusion. It wasn't Gorfmann at all, in dinner dress, but somebody else in a black, single-piece garment that looked like a jump-suit. The last thing that Osternak wanted now was further complication. He turned and ran back around the corner and in through the side door. Inside, he vacillated over which way to go and finally went through to the lobby and down the passage to the back door to check the Compound.
As Osternak disappeared down the passage from the lobby, the crazed figure of Gorfmann came out of another opening behind him, staggered across the lobby, fumbling with his car keys, and disappeared out the front door.
Out in the Compound, Osternak One halted uncertainly. Gorfmann, in evening dress, was approaching from the gate that opened through from the general staff parking area. But he was behaving in a suddenly very different manner, walking jauntily and whistling to himself. And although his tie was untied, all of a sudden he didn't have a topcoat. Aware that something odd was going on, Osternak faded back into the shadows by the rear door of the Keep. And then another figure appeared at the gate behind Gorfmann. “Hey, Rudi,” it called. Gorfmann stopped and looked back. It was Hoetzer's voice. “You forgot your coat."
“Oh, silly of me.” Gorfmann turned and retraced his steps to the gate.
And then it dawned on Osternak what was happening. This wasn't the Gorfmann he had been chasing at all, but the original one, back from Innsbruck. Osternak exhaled his breath slowly at the thought of the collision that had almost occurred, and let himself quietly back into the building. He walked quickly back along the passage to the front lobby, and just as he got there a car engine started up outside. A moment later, he saw headlamps through the lobby windows, then Gorfmann's car backing out of its parking slot and roaring away. He ran toward the door, although the gesture was already futile, but then stopped dead as he was about to open it. The figure in the black jump-suit was still out there, standing in full view in the forecourt, now, looking up at the sky. Then the figure began crunching across the gravel toward the door. Osternak backed off and drew himself up into the darkness at the foot of the front stairs. The figure in the jump-suit came in through the door and then skidded on the tiles just inside the vestibule, almost falling over. Osternak heard him curse, and then watched him walk across to the passage at the back and go into the men's washroom a short distance along.
No sooner had that door closed when the sound of another door opening came from the far end of the passage, followed by footsteps approaching briskly. Osternak moved higher up the stairs, deeper into the darkness. It was the Gorfmann back from Innsbruck, no doubt going through to pick up his car. Hoetzer must have dropped him off in the general staff area for some reason instead of bringing him directly around to the front. Osternak was past trying to figure out what was happening now, or when, or with whom, or why. He waited in the stairway, totally bemused.
Gorfmann disappeared out through the front door. Osternak heard his footsteps come to a sudden halt outside on the gravel, then go stamping back and forth from one end of the parking area to the other. Finally they came back to the entrance, and Gorfmann burst through, slamming the door behind him. “What in hell's going on?” Osternak heard him muttering aloud to himself. “Oh God, this is too much. Not at a time like this, of all nights!” His voice faded away along the passage. The sound came of the back door opening, closing again with a bang, and then all was quiet.
Osternak waited a while longer, but everything remained still. He turned and went slowly up to his office, thinking that perhaps his other self might have gone there, too. But he found it deserted. He went over to his desk, sat down, took the flask from the cabinet below his terminal, and poured himself another large, straight brandy. He sat there for a long time, trying to make sense of it all, but he was too tired. Tomorrow he would write it all down. But for now ... there was nothing more to be done for now. He replaced the flask, switched off the desk lamp, got up wearily, and walked over to the door. After one last look around and a final, baffled shake of his head, he turned out the light and walked the corridor to the front stairs. Just as he got there, a figure coming down the stairs fast almost ran into him. It was a Gorfmann. Osternak had no idea which one. He was wearing evening dress and a topcoat, but had his tie tied.
For a second Gorfmann just stood there, paralyzed with shock and looking as befuddled as Osternak felt. His eyes widened disbelievingly behind his spectacles, and his head shook protestingly. “It can't be,” he whispered.
Suddenly the pieces fell together in Osternak's mind, and despite the circumstances he couldn't contain a thin smile. “Oh, but it can,” he assured Gorfmann.
“How is this possible?"
“I don't understand it. You don't understand it. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Rudi, but you wouldn't listen. Do what you will. You can't win."
“Oh, but I can.” Gorfmann drew out the gun. Osternak could have taken it, since it contained only blanks ... but that would have spoiled everything.
As they walked away down the stairs, Osternak ahead and Gorfmann following a short distance behind with the gun, another figure who had been listening came down from the level above. He followed them at a safe distance across the compound and watched as they entered the transfer dome. He waited outside for a few minutes, and by the time he went inside, the control room was empty. He went over to the supervisory console, which had been activated, and read from the displays that the transfer countdown was just twenty seconds from zero. He moved quietly over to the door and peered around it into the transfer room just in time to see Gorfmann step into the chamber behind Osternak One and close the door. There was a brief humming noise, and then silence. Back in the control room the displays went through the post-transfer routine, and the system shut itself down.
Professor Osbert Osternak Two came back outside and stood looking around at the silhouettes of the Keep, the silent laboratory buildings, and the lights from the main gate area on the far side of the Compound. He drew the set of Gorfmann's car keys from his pocket and stared at them for a long time, thinking to himself and wondering at the subtleties of the universe. Then he walked slowly ba
ck across the Compound and into the Keep. Ten minutes later, wearing his overcoat and hat, he came out through the front entrance, climbed into his car, and left for home. It had been a long night in more ways than one. He had been awake an extra six hours, and his body was beginning to feel it. Tomorrow, for once, he would sleep in late, he decided. Very late.
* * * *
Inspector Wenkle made a sweeping motion with his hand over the papers spread out on the desk in Professor Osternak's office. “The thing that puzzles me, Professor, is that the dentition of the victim matches Dr. Gorfmann's records perfectly. Also, we found traces of unburned hair that also matched samples from a comb found in Gorfmann's desk."
Osternak returned a what-am-I-supposed-to-say-to-that look. “Surely you're not suggesting that it was Gorfmann in the car, Inspector? How could it have been? You said that you interviewed him yourself the day after the accident happened."
“Also, they both had surgical pins in the same knee."
“Lots of people have surgical pins."
“But the dental records..."
“I'm afraid that's not my department, Inspector. Can't two people have similar dental histories?"
“Identical? I've never heard of it."
Osternak raised his eyebrows and held a prolonged shrug for a moment longer, and then placed his hands palms-down on his desk in a gesture of finality. “Well, all I can suggest, Inspector, is that you take a leaf from the practice of science,” he said breezily.
“And what might that be, sir?"
“Hypotheses are built upon the best data available, but they are never inviolate. When incontrovertible facts are established which contradict the hypothesis, then the hypothesis must be revised. In this case, the hypothesis based on previous experience is that no two individuals have identical dentition.... I trust you take my point."
“I see.” Wenkle rubbed his nose and seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. “This will cause quite a sensation among forensic circles,” he remarked.
“Hmm? ... Oh yes. Yes, I suppose it will."
“Well, I suppose there's no need to take up any more of your time, Professor."
“If you're sure I can be of no further help..."
“Oh, I think we've covered everything.” Wenkle began collecting his papers together. “Where did you say Dr. Gorfmann went, again?"
“To Australia. He was a rather headstrong and unusually ambitious young man. Very capable, mark you, but he thought he wasn't getting enough of an opportunity here. He resigned and went off to ... oh, I forget the name of the place. One of those billabong-sounding, Aborigine words, out in the desert."
“A bit abrupt, wasn't it?"
“Remarkably so. It caused us a few headaches, I can tell you. But he was very temperamental. Terrible, the lack of consideration among young people these days. Terrible."
“It seems strange that he didn't wait to collect the insurance money."
“Didn't need it. His family's dripping with money. They own gold mines or something out in Australia. That's probably why he went there."
“Why would he have bought a new car so recently if he was going abroad?"
“Who knows? As I said, he was an extremely headstrong young man. It was probably an impulse that came out of the blue. He was like that. It doesn't surprise me at all. I only wish I had the money and freedom to be able to do things like that."
“I see.” Wenkle zipped up his document holder and rose from his chair. “Just one more thing, Professor."
“Yes?"
“To enable us to close our file on the case, I suppose there would be no objection to letting me have copies of the relevant documents—his resignation notice and termination papers?"
Osternak stared down at the desk for a moment. “You mean right now?"
“Well, if it wouldn't be any trouble, since I'm here anyway...."
“Hmm...” Osternak sniffed and scratched his temple. “That might be difficult. I've just remembered that our secretary who handles all those things is off this afternoon."
“Well, maybe in the next couple of days?"
“Oh, in that case.... “Osternak showed his palms in a gesture of magnanimity. It would mean a long session with Hoetzer's high-resolution graphics printer, but he could survive another late night, he supposed. “Certainly, Inspector. Give me a couple of days, and I'll let you have all the documents you like."
“Very good, then. Good day, Professor Osternak. And thank you again for being so cooperative."
“Not at all. I like to do my best for another profession whose objective is uncovering the truth, eh? Good day to you, Inspector."
Osternak got up and escorted Wenkle to the door. Then he came back and stood for a long time staring at the equations on his chalkboard. The recent events demonstrated an even greater need for care than he'd imagined. But when he went over the things that had happened and examined them again in terms of symbolic relationships ... yes, yes, he could see a strange kind of logic beginning to emerge. Intrigued, he moved nearer the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write.
END
* * *
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