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 these years you were to blame for his death!" Hanlon exclaimed. "When we get back I'm going to have the best plastic surgeon remove that scar, so it will no longer be a constant reminder. Then a top psychiatrist will give you some therapy, and help you get your mind at rest. After that you'll be ready to take your place in society as a very valuable citizen." "You forget what's going to happen to me because of my part in this plot," Philander was still bitter and unconvinced. "Nothing's going to happen to you--you weren't guilty of anything except having been hypnotized by an alien supermentality," Hanlon said convincingly. "I'll see to that, myself." Philander looked up in surprise. "You mean you ... a young fellow like you ... can tell the ..." "Not exactly," Hanlon interrupted with a grin. "But this was my assignment, and my recommendations will govern. The main thing is, will you consent to the plan I've suggested?" Philander sat for long, thoughtful minutes, then looked up piteously. "If you only can do it!"