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!"

Browne flicked over a switch marked Lock 1st Fl as he rose and went into the living room. We followed him warily.

The alien glanced back at the closed door with a trace of annoyance on his broad features; then regarded us imperturbably as we advanced.

"Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Rainford," he said flatly. "Well, this is a surprise!"

He didn't sound sincere.

"Have a seat," Browne said, waving a big hand toward the chair.

The alien shook his head negatively.

Browne gave Fitzgerald and me a quick glance, inclining his head forward. We promptly accelerated our advance.

"Look," Browne said, his dark face intense, "we know you're not what you pretend to be. We know you're not of our country, not of our world, not even of our solar system. Sit down in that chair!"

He lunged forward, grasping with his big hands, as we leaped at the alien from either flank.

The alien didn't just move—he streaked, shooting between Browne and 

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