I dipped into my pocket and there was a small wad of bills and a little silver. I hauled out the little wad and peeled off a bill for him.

"Thank you, Brad," he said. "I ain't had a drink all day." He tucked the dollar into the pocket of a patched and flapping vest and hobbled swiftly up the street, heading for the tavern.

I opened the office door and stepped inside and as I shut the door behind me, the phone began to ring.

I stood there, like a fool, rooted to the floor, staring at the phone.

It kept on ringing, so I went and answered it.

"Mr Bradshaw Carter?" asked the sweetest voice I have ever heard.

"This is he," I said. "What can I do for you?

I knew that it was no one in the village, for they would have called me Brad. And, besides, there was no one I knew who had that kind of voice. It had the persuasive purr of a TV glamour girl selling soap or beauty aids, and it had, as well, that dear, bright timbre one would expect when a fairy princess spoke.

"You, perhaps, are the Mr Bradshaw Carter whose father ran a greenhouse?"

"Yes, that's right," I said.

"You, yourself, no longer run the greenhouse?

"No," I said, "I don't." And then the voice changed. Up till now it had been sweet and very feminine, but now it was male and businesslike. As if one person had been talking, then had gotten up and gone and an entirely different person had picked up the phone. And yet, for some crazy reason, I had the distinct impression that there had been no change of person, but just a change of voice.

"We understand," this new voice said, "that you might be free to do some work for us."

"Why, yes, I would," I said. "But what is going on? Why did your voice change? Who am I talking with?" And it was a silly thing to ask, for no matter what my impression might have been, no human voice could have changed so completely and abruptly. It had to be two persons.