First part and backstory: https://poal.co/s/scifi/788197 > Suspicion in Hamburg > > There was trouble in the director's office at the Hamburg broadcasting station. > “Your hedonism is grotesque!” growled broadcasting director Dr. Herbert Böhm. “When I was as young as you, Gaston, I would have pounced on a report like that like a Camargue bull on a torero!” “But I was so looking forward to my vacation, boss!” sobbed Gaston Mercier. “Vacation! Nonsense! Isn't this trip to the beautiful Mediterranean a vacation? It's cold and wet here, but the sun is shining there!” "But you don't know the Camargue, boss! It's a terrible place! Barren, desolate, and empty. And I don't care about bulls. The Camargue is hell. I know it! I'm from Marseille!" “That's exactly why, Gaston!” Dr. Böhm replied triumphantly. "You know the Camargue, you're a smart guy and an excellent driver. Today, you will drive my wife's Taurus to the Société Anonyme Taurus and answer the following questions: Question one: Why does the Société no longer build Taurus cars? Question two: Why were the hood ornaments on the Taurus cars replaced? Question three: Is Horace Still, the CEO of the Société, crazy or not?" “Crazy?” “Listen! You know that my wife drives a Taurus. Despite repeated requests from the authorized repair shop, Charlotte has always refused to have the old hood ornament on her car replaced with the golden ‘T’. Charlotte considers this tin ball a kind of talisman, despite the look of a shabby sparrow after a hailstorm.” “But your esteemed wife, boss, is a universally admired beauty — how can you compare her to a shabby sparrow?” Gaston protested passionately. “Don't talk nonsense, Gaston!” snorted Dr. Böhm. "Of course, by shabby sparrow I mean the tin ball, not Charlotte. But don't keep interrupting me, Gaston! Last week, our garage was broken into three times! The first time, Jupiter, our German shepherd, chased the thief away, but the lock had already been filed off. The second time, my wife woke up to a noise at the garage door, armed herself with a paperweight, rushed downstairs, and found Jupiter busy with a leg of mutton and the garage lock completely broken. The third time, we lay in wait and caught the thief!" “Well, wonderful!” said Gaston, not very interested. “And who do you think the thief was?” boomed Dr. Böhm. “None other than Horace Still, the CEO, himself!” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Gaston, now interested. “That's exactly what I said when I grabbed Horace Still by the collar. But Still just grinned calmly and held a golden ‘T’ under my nose. He claimed he wanted to exchange it for the old, worthless tin ball!” “Did you hand Horace Still over to the police?” "No, of course not! Can't you smell a scoop, Gaston? Something's not right here! Instead, I made a deal with the CEO. In exchange for letting him go, the Société would grant my best reporter—that's you, Gaston—an exclusive interview and answer all his questions. Horace agreed, but on condition that the tin ball could be replaced after the interview. He promised me it would be the most amazing report ever broadcast on the radio or published in a newspaper. Well, Gaston, still upset about your vacation?" “No, boss! Off to the Camargue!” A few days later, Gaston Mercier rushed excitedly into the director's office and handed Dr. Böhm the manuscript with trembling hands. “Read it, boss, read it!” he gasped. “You won't believe it, but every word is true!” Dr. Böhm skimmed through the manuscript and then threw it on the desk, shaking his head. “No listener will believe us, Gaston!” he hissed. “I don't want to offend you, but I think you got sunstroke in the Camargue! They seem to have taken you for a ride down there — this Horace Still, this Miss Sisa, and these doppelgangers!” “But Mademoiselle Sisa—the most beautiful girl in the world—I'm a good judge of character, boss, and no lie would ever come out of her wonderful lips! And I saw her other form too. I swear to you, boss, that...” “Ha! There we have it, Gaston!” exclaimed Dr. Böhm. “You've fallen for that black-haired beauty! You're a fool, Gaston!” Gaston's eyes flashed with indignation. He pursed his lips and rummaged around in his briefcase. Then he pulled out an object wrapped in tissue paper and threw it unwrapped onto his boss's desk. “This,” said Gaston in a gloomy voice, “is Mademoiselle Sisa!” Dr. Böhm removed the paper wrapping and then stared at Miss Sisa in disgust. “Oh, don't get on my nerves, Gaston!” he groaned. “What you need is a good cooling off! You're flying to Greenland today to interview Miss Eskimo, the new beauty queen! The plane ticket is in my office!” “Fish smell again!” grumbled Gaston. “So you don't believe me, boss?” “Get out of my sight, Gaston! Before you end up with a psychiatrist!” Gaston Mercier disappeared in a huff in the direction of Greenland. After the reporter had left, the radio director frowned as he looked at what Gaston had called Mademoiselle Sisa. Suddenly, Dr. Böhm's eyes took on a strange gleam: instead of claws, the thing on his desk had something resembling hands, the smallest and most delicate hands in the world! Dr. Böhm carefully tapped the thing. It sounded hollow — but didn't it have to sound hollow if Miss Sisa had continued her journey? What if there was something to this incredible story after all? What if Gaston hadn't just been writing in a feverish delirium? Dr. Böhm reached for the manuscript and read it a second time. Part 4: https://poal.co/s/scifi/788310