I plumbed my mind, I had it! In a star identification course at M. I. T. they had given us star-charts showing us the galaxy as seen from another star which we were asked to identify. One of those charts at M. I. T. had been almost exactly the same as this: the galaxy as viewed from Alpha Centauri! I was stunned. I staggered a bit as I went back out on the stoop and looked down the street. I welcomed the sight of Ed Fitzgerald hurrying up across the neighbors' forelawns, uprooting some of the burbanked tropical plants en route. By the time Fitzgerald reached me, the census taker had come out of Mike Kozulak's like a fission-freed neutron, staggered a few times in an orbit around one of Mike's greenhouse-shelled shrubs, and actually _streaked_ across the two vacant lots between Mike's and Manny Cohen's. "He's not human," I said to Ed. "Not _Earth_-human. I'll swear he's from Alpha Centauri; look at these papers! What he's after Heaven knows, but maybe we can find out. It's a cinch he'll eventually reach Maitland Browne's. Let's get there fast; maybe we'll be able to trap him!" I dragged Fitzgerald inside and we went up the passenger shaft under optimum ascent. My little Ponticopter's jets seared the roof garden as I blasted forward before the vanes had lifted us clear of the stage. I think I out-Browned Browne in going those five blocks and I know I laid the foundation for a Mrs. Browne vs. Mr. Rainford feud as I dropped my 'copter with dismaying results into the roof garden which was her idea of Eden. I had to, though; Brownie's is a one-copter stage and his ship was on it. We beat the alien. We looked back down the hill before we entered Brownie's passenger shaft. The fellow was just staggering out of Jack Wohl's rancher at the lower end of this last block. We found Browne working on a stripped-down stereo chassis which had been carelessly laid without protective padding in the middle of the highly polished dining table. I knew then that his wife couldn't possibly be home. Browne looked up as if he were accustomed to unannounced people dropping into his reception chute. "To what do I owe the honor of--" he started. Fitzgerald interrupted him with a stammered burst that brought a pleased grin to his broad features. "Well, Fitz," Browne said. "Where's the old control?" Fitzgerald fumed. I took over and explained swiftly. "Well, this _is_ a problem," Browne said thoughtfully. "Now why in the world--" His front door chimed and became one-way transparent. We saw the alien standing on the stoop, erect and calm. "Now what will--" Fitzgerald started. "We thought maybe--the chair, Brownie!" Browne grinned and pressed a button on the table console. He has them in every room--to control at his whim any of the dozens of electronic and mechanical equipments located throughout his enormous house. The front door opened and the alien entered as Browne cried "Come in!"