Abruptly the ingot faded and disappeared. Its glow receded into darkness.
Douglas glanced up, and gasped in horror.
In the sky above him, something blotted out the stars. A great shape, so huge it staggered him. The shape moved, a disembodied circle of living presence, directly over his head.
A face. A gigantic, cosmic face peering down. Like some great moon, blotting out everything else. The face hung for an instant, intent on him -- on the spot he had just vacated. Then the face, like the ingot, faded and sank into darkness.
The stars returned. He was alone.
Douglas sank back against the seat. The car veered crazily and roared down the highway. His hands slid from the wheel and dropped at his sides. He caught the wheel again, just in time.
There was no doubt about it. Somebody was after him. Trying to get him. But no Communists or student practical jokers. Or any beast, lingering from the dim past.
Whatever it was, whoever they were, had nothing to do with Earth. It -- they -- were from some other world. They were out to get him.
Him.
But -- why?
Pete Berg listened closely. "Go on," he said when Douglas halted.
"That's all." Douglas turned to Bill Henderson. "Don't try to tell me I'm out of my mind. I really saw it. It was looking down at me. The whole face this time, not just the eye."
"You think this was the face that the eye belonged to?" Jean Henderson asked.
"I know it. The face had the same expression as the eye. Studying me."
"We've got to call the police," Laura Douglas said in a thin, clipped voice. "This can't go on. If somebody's out to get him --"
"The police won't do any good." Bill Henderson paced back and forth. It was late, after midnight. All the lights in the Douglas house were on. In one corner old Milton Erick, head of the Math Department, sat curled up, taking everything in, his wrinkled face expressionless.