He acted, for a second, as if he didn't hear me. Then he spoke. "Now," he said, "we go back. Democracy--it's a limited tool, like anything else. No tool is so good that it can be used in every case, on every problem. We were wrong. We'd better admit it and go back." "But your men--" "The good ones know the truth now," he said, "just as I do. The others ... there's nothing else they can do, without me and without the rest of the force." I took a deep breath. It was all over. "And now," he said suddenly, "I want you to tell me just who you are." "I--" "Not James Carson," he said. "And not from Ancarta. Not even from Wohlen." "How do you know?" I said. "Nobody on this planet," he said, "would do this job in just this way. I'm familiar enough with the top men to be sure of that. You're from the Comity." "That's right," I said. "But ... who are you? What force? What army?" "No army," I said. "You might call me a teacher; my corps is made up of teachers. We give lessons--where lessons are needed." "A teacher," he said quietly. A long time passed. "Well," he asked, "do I pass the course?" "You pass," I told him. "You pass--with high marks, General." * * * * * I was off-planet within twenty-four hours. Not that Santa Claus didn't want me to stay longer, when I told him what had happened. Hell, he wanted to throw a banquet and sixteen speeches in my honor. I was a holy Idol all over again. I was superhuman. I was glad to get away. What makes them think a man's special, just because he uses his brain once in a while? THE END * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man Who Played to Lose, by Laurence Mark Janifer