Pitt leaned over and studied them carefully. The first was a snapshot of a light-haired man who wore the uniform of a German naval officer. He was caught in a relaxed pose, standing on the bridge of a ship and peering out to sea, his hands resting carelessly on a pair of binoculars that hung around his neck. The face in the second photograph stared back at Pitt with the familiar leer of a shaven-skulled Erich von Stroheim. A huge white dog stood at the lower half of the picture, crouched as if ready to spring. An involuntary chill crept through Pitt's body as he remembered—remembered all too vividly.

"There doesn't seem to be much of a resemblance."

Zacynthus nodded. "Admiral Heibert did a remarkable job—scars, birthmarks, even his dental fillings matched von Till's."

"What about fingerprints?"

"Impossible to prove anything. There were no known records of von Till's prints, and Heibert had his altered by surgery."

Pitt sat back puzzled. "Then how can we be sure—"

"The uninvited detail," Zacynthus said slowly. "No matter how exhaustingly they try or how diligently they plan, all criminals get their tails pinned to the wall by the uninvited detail. In Heibert's case it was von Till's scalp."

Pitt shook his head. "I don't follow you."

"When von Till was a young man, he contracted a skin disease called Alpecia areata which caused complete baldness. Heibert didn't know this. He thought von Till had shaved his head in the Prussian tradition, so quite naturally he took to the razor. It didn't take the War Criminals Investigators long to spot the growth. There was, of course, later evidence that confirmed Admiral Heibert's identity, but the hair was the first nail in the coffin."

Pitt suddenly felt a vague mixture of relief and satisfaction. "Has he swung yet?"

"Four days ago," Zacynthus said matter-of-factly. "You saw nothing in the newspapers because there was nothing. The Germans kept his capture and death quiet. They're sick and tired of having the mud of their Nazi past rubbed in their faces every time an old war criminal is ferreted out. Besides, Heibert didn't have the same notoriety as Bormann and a few others of Hitler's personal clique."

"Makes you wonder how many more are scattered around the world," Pitt murmured.

The telephone on the desk buzzed, and the Director picked it up. "Yes…yes, I'll pass along the good news, thank you." He replaced the telephone in its cradle, his pitted face split in a wide grin, and he turned to Sandecker. "That was your office, Admiral. Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations."

Sandecker rolled the cigar to one side of his mouth. "What in hell for?"

The Director, still grinning, stood up and laid his hand on the admiral's shoulder. "It seems that your marine oddity turned out to be a viviparous female. Consequently, you, sir, are now the proud papa of a bouncing baby Teaser."

* * *