"There," he said to Kevan, "that'll let you into a subway passage that's right beneath Shanachie's office. I must admit that I'm grateful to you, Kevan MacGreene." "Think nothing of it," Kevan said. He started to step through the hole, then hesitated. "There is one thing I'd like to know," he said. "What?" "What was in that mixture that stopped Ragnarok and is strong enough to hold the evil gods of Asgard?" "Just what the recipe called for," Alviss said proudly. "All of the pitch-blende in the world. The egos of a general, a dictator, and a number of lesser persons. The vanity of some American Congressmen. The greed of an infinite number of men. One drop of blood from the left thumb of a communist, a capitalist, a religious fanatic, a censor, a racist, and from every man in the world who would like to be a little better than some other man. A drop of marrow, as a substitute for blood, from all executive vice-presidents. One page each from a contract, a mortgage, a promissory note, an international cartel agreement. Three corporation charters. One lobbyist's expense account. Finger-nail cuttings from every politician in the world. All of these boiled together in the juice of man's inhumanity to man. Your world is now minus all of those things, but we achieved a brew which possessed more evil than Loki and his pack could stand." "I can still remember the odor," Kevan said nodding. "What it contained that may be of value, if used differently," said Alviss, "can sometime be regained by a world in which the mortals cannot misuse them. Although such action will also release Loki, it will then do no harm. When men are not evil, then their gods dare not be. Now, be along with you, Kevan MacGreene--I have a spot of courting to do." Kevan stepped through the hole and found himself in a subway station. He hurried up the stairs and a moment later stepped out on the streets of New York. While he'd been sure that it was almost daylight when he'd left Alviss, here it was only approaching evening. Although he did not look closely, being in a hurry to check in, it seemed to him that there was something different about everything in the city. He finally arrived at the corner of Fourth and Twelfth Streets and stopped, puzzled. There ahead of him was the sign _TROUBLESHOOTERS, INC._, but it was on a fine modern building that looked as if it were made from spun glass. He could have sworn that it had been on an old brownstone building. Deciding that it must have been the hangover, he hurried inside. "Kathleen," he shouted to the dark-haired girl at the desk. She looked up with a friendly but distant smile. "I beg your pardon," she said. * * * * * Kevan looked at her and frowned. She looked almost exactly like Kathleen Culanna, even to the emerald green eyes, but she was different. "You're not Kathleen Culanna," he said.