Next, he set off to look for a stair well, fire ladder or other method of exit. It took him three hours to cover the entire vault and its corridors. No doubt of it, the elevators were the only means of entering and leaving. It was now one o'clock. In eight hours the upper level doors would open to the Digesters. No particular effort had been made to camouflage the gaps in the stacks. His one chance was to reach the street level before anyone noticed the missing books. Meanwhile, he could do nothing except spend the night as comfortably as possible. He spread his coat on the marble floor behind the squat statue of a Malayan goddess. Surprisingly, he did doze off toward morning. He awoke shortly after eight o'clock, and began to punch the elevator button every five minutes. Finally, at three minutes to nine, a faint hum responded within the shaft. He retreated hastily into the nearest corridor, and waited another ten minutes before bringing the elevator down to his level. Then he entered it, pressed the street-level control and shot upward. He lit a cigarette, and was prepared to step out nonchalantly as soon as the door opened. His exit was nonchalant enough, but the servo-robot guard in front of the elevator held out its tabulator slot and said. "Crdpls." Walther was shaken, but did not freeze up. He fumbled in his pocket for a slip of paper and tried to cram it into the tabulator. A red light flashed on the servo-robot's chest; a buzzer sounded. Thirty yards beyond, Walther saw the front desk and the door open to the street. He acted with the impulse. A sidestep took him around the servo-robot, and then he was racing toward the door. Three steps later, a vise-like grip clamped around his shoulders and swept him off his feet. Twisting, he saw that the servo-robot's arm had elongated, and that the fingers had stretched to encircle his body. He kicked hard at the arm, and that was his last conscious act. The next time Walther opened his eyes, his head throbbed so violently he closed them again. When the spinning stopped, he tried once more. Around him he saw four metallic walls, and overhead a ceiling of similar material. Except for a ventilator grid, and the outlines of two doors, there were no breaks in the wall and no decorations. He was lying on a low, narrow cot, and was still fully dressed. He felt his head. There was a large lump above his right temple, where he might have struck the floor. But he was still too groggy for much speculation. He closed his eyes to ease the throbbing, and fell into an uneasy sleep. The creaking of the door must have roused him, for it was closing as he focussed on it. A tray of food was within arm's reach. A smaller door behind his bed had been opened; it led to a tiny washroom.