down, sir," Hanlon said kindly to the wondering man.

"What's this all about, Hanlon?" Philander puzzled. "Who are you,
anyway?"

"I was assigned to find out what it was centering on Simonides that
seemed inimical to the peace of the Federation. The trail led me to
Algon."

"Where you used me to further your schemes, eh?" the tone was bitter.

"Please, Mr. Philander, don't misjudge me until you know all about it.
First, let me ask you, did you know who 'His Highness' really was?"

The mining engineer shrugged. "You probably know already, so why ask me?
Prime Minister of Simonides, of course ... but you said 'was'?"

"He's dead now. Did you also know he wasn't human--that he was an alien
from some ..."

"Not human? You're crazy. He was as human as any of us."

"When we get back I'll show you a full-length X-ray of him if you wish.
He was planning the conquest of our entire Federation and Galaxy. The
Corps experts are still working to find out just what the details of his
scheme were, but that much we do know. Did you know about all the
warships he was building on Algon?"

"Ships? On Algon?" The surprises were coming too fast for Philander to
adjust to them.

"Yes. Did you think your mine was all there was there? We know of nine
mines of one kind or another, a number of factories, smelters, and three
great shipyards. Incidentally, everything is now in the hands of the
Corps."

Philander shook his head in stupefaction. "I'm not calling you a liar,
sir, but it's hard to believe you. I knew there were several mines, but
not that many, nor about the rest."

"It's all true enough. And I'm still 'George' to you, my good friend,
not 'sir'."

That was a little too much for the older man. "What a mess I've made of
my life," he groaned.

Hanlon was intensely sorry and sympathetic, but in a way he was glad to
see this present mood. It would undoubtedly make easier what he wanted
to do. He went over, sat on the arm of Philander's chair and put his arm
about the other's shoulder. He gently touched that terrible scar. "When
and how did you get this?"

Philander shrank away from him, but the story raced across the surface
of his mind, and Hanlon read it.

When he (Philander) was about eight, a gang of boys were playing about
an old, tumbled-down building, and somehow knocked out the prop holding
up its remains. Three others were hurt, Philander got that cut-scar, and
his brother was killed.

"And you've felt all