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Planet Earth, and conditions—the psychological, the biological, and,” he turned a vastly impassive stare at Rogge, “the essentially logical circumstances—are different from what you have been accustomed to.”
    He left the room. Rogge arose, paced up and down, kneading the palm of one hand with the fist of the other.
    “What a pompous old goat!” he said between clenched teeth. He darted a burning glance at Captain Julic who sat quietly smiling across a glass of liqueur. “Have you ever seen anything like it? Here I’ve been on the job seven months now, fighting this problem night and day—and he arrives, and in one hour delivers his opinion. Have you ever heard the like? Why, I believe I’ll beam Starport this very minute! I asked for an Intelligence operative, not a tourist!” He started for the door.
    Captain Julic arose from his seat. “I advise you, Superintendent—” But Rogge was gone. Captain Julic followed the tall wide-pacing figure to the Communications room. He knocked at the door, and as his signal was disregarded, quietly entered.
    He found Rogge barking at the screen, where the space-blurred image of the chief of the Terrestrial Intelligence Corps showed.
    “—and he’s gone off to bed now,” Rogge was bellowing. “And all he tells me is to build a fence!”
    There was a short pause, while the message raced at near-instantaneous speed to Starport and back. Rogge stood like a great snapping-turtle temporarily without its shell, frozen, glaring at the image. The loudspeaker buzzed, crackled.
    “Superintendent Rogge,” came the words of the Corps chief, “I earnestly advise you to follow the advice of Magnus Ridolph. In my opinion you are fortunate to have him at hand to help you.”
    The image faded. Rogge turned slowly, looked unseeingly past Julic.
    Julic approached, tapped the rigid arm. “If you’d asked me, I could have told you the same.”
    Rogge wheeled. “What about this Magnus Ridolph? Who is he?”
    Captain Julic made an easy gesture. “Magnus Ridolph is an eminent mathematician.”
    “What’s that got to do with the T.C.I.?” demanded Rogge bitterly. “Or the present case? He won’t stop the killings with a slide-rule.”
    Captain Julic smiled. “I think he carries a slide-rule in his brain.”
    Rogge turned, stalked slowly from the Communications room. “How is it that the Corps commander sent him—a mathematician?”
    Julic shrugged. “I imagine that he’s an unofficial consultant, something of the sort.”
    Rogge jerked his long white fingers. “Suppose he’s right? Suppose he’s killed tonight?”
    A steward approached, whispered in his ear. Rogge straightened up, clamped his thin lips together. “Sure. Get him anything he wants.”
    He and Captain Julic returned to the apartment.
    After leaving Rogge, Magnus Ridolph had gone to his room, locked the door, and made a thoughtful survey of his surroundings. One wall was glass, framed on either side by the sharp gray and black foliage of two tall trees. Visible beyond was the curve of a hill down to the beach, the luminescence of the pallid ocean.
    Darkness was falling, the sky deepened to a starless black, and the ocean, by contrast, shone softly bright as lamp-lit parchment.
    Magnus Ridolph turned, inspected the remainder of the room. Empty, beyond all question. To the right was his couch, ahead the tiles of the bathroom glistened through an open door.
    Ridolph closed the bathroom door, polarized the glass panels behind him, and pressed the call button for the steward.
    “Bring me, quickly, please, a small power-pack, about twenty feet of glochrome wire, and three rolls of heavy insul.”
    The steward stared, then said, “Yes, sir,” turned and closed the door.
    Magnus Ridolph waited with his back to the door, looking ruminatively at the walls.
    The steward presently returned. Magnus Ridolph removed his tunic, then on sudden thought, closely inspected the walls.
    He donned his tunic once more, rang for