George Everson descended hastily from the air liner, and the flying steps of a street escalator carried him up into the Star Building, but not before the crowd surging behind the fence a hundred yards away had caught sight of him. How they recognized him in the growing dusk he didn't know. His gray hair and mustache, the sensitive lines of his face were unobtrusive, anonymous—but recognize him they did. Probably hate had sharpened their vision, for the chorus of yells that overtook him was fierc