They sat at ease in the Oval Office. Had the president looked at his guest, he would have seen a handsome, ageless man, dark-haired, with a smooth oval face and a flawless olive complexion. Had he looked into this man’s eyes, he would have seen the night looking out through a mask; it was because he had looked there once—and had not liked what he had seen—that he did not look again.

Had the president’s guest looked at him, he would have seen a lean and hard-faced man of sixty-three who might have been a farmer or a county agent.

In point of fact, the president had been a rodeo rider whole decades ago. He still looked the part. Like all the best politicians, he looked like anything but a politician.

“They git you his picture?” the president asked.

His guest shook his head; on Earth, this guest was known as Gideon Chase.

“Well, I’m glad.” For a moment, the president’s hard blue eyes glinted. “I got a bunch, an’ I want to git ’em out of my desk. Give ’em to the FBI when you’re through.”

Gideon picked up the first and glanced at it.

“Perfec’ly ordinary, ain’t he, Dr. Chase?”

“There are no ordinary men, although so many believe themselves so.” “You’re right, he ain’t. He’s ordinary lookin’ is what I mean.”

Gideon shook his head and tapped the figure in the photograph with a fingernail, at which the figure said, “Woldercan’s a beautiful place, one I’m sure I’ll miss often. But right now retirement looks awfully good to me and I’m heading for the South Seas.”

“A perfec’ly ordinary-lookin’ man, but if I was asked to name one evil man in our entire nation, an’ if the fate of the whole damned U.S.A. was ridin’ on my answer—well, sir, I’d name him.”