Chapter XIII

"I'm afraid it won't do, Mr. Street," the editor of _Man's True Space_ said across his desk. "It's fiction. There can be only one Baker and tens of thousands would read the story in my magazine."

"You are missing the point, Mr. Trent," Street said. "There is only one manuscript and it is in your hands. _You_ are Baker."

"No," Trent said. "No."

"Yes," Street said relentlessly. "Just as the director realized that _he_ was not Baker, you must realize _you_ are."

Trent lay back in his swivel, gasping. "All right, all right, I admit it. I am Baker."

"But you aren't really, Mr. Trent," Street said calmly. "I know you thought at one time you were Baker and then repressed the idea. But I knew at some future time the delusion might return and you would begin claiming to be Baker once more. As you said, there can only be one Baker. _I_ am Baker."

"You lie," Trent snarled. "I know the truth now. I am Baker, and there _can_ only be one."

The editor jerked the gun up from his desk drawer. The shots crashed at the same instant. Trent ran the letter spindle through his chest as he fell across the desk. Street settled back into his chair comfortably, death in his lungs from the gas bullet that had exploded against his armor.