I judged that, just about the time I struck the fourth floor, that phone at the desk would be sounding impatiently again. I opened my door, bolted it behind me, and began to throw things into my Gladstone. My phone started to ring. I emptied the drawers of the high-boy, the devilish jangle in my ears; leaped into the bathroom and brushed my shaving kit and toilet articles into a little leather bag I used for them. I would be certain I was leaving nothing behind on which there might be a monogram, an engraved name.... Fingerprints! Great merciful God! I was packed. Everything I had brought with me was in the Gladstone. The phone stopped ringing. They would be on their way. A hotel detective or a couple of policemen, called in after that urgent message from the garage. Perhaps the usurpers-- * * * * * I whipped out my handkerchief, wrapped it round my right hand, and started in to dust that room as no chambermaid had ever dusted it in all its memory. Each piece of wood which I might have touched in the past week received a quick vigorous swipe. Each glass and porcelain surface in the bathroom. Everything. The door knob. The glasses. Is that all? The window, which I'd raised a few times. Is that all? It that _all_? I believed it was. I snatched up the Gladstone and with the cloth still around my hand I opened the door and slipped into the corridor. Close the door, son. That'll halt them for a precious two seconds. Down the corridor, around the first turn.... Safe, for the moment, safe! And now what? Here was a flight of stairs. And in the distance I heard a lift door open. Down the stairs I rushed, and was on the third floor. Running for another flight, a different one, with a vague thought of confusing my trail, I stumbled and almost fell. Recovering, I fled down these, on down, down, down. I was on the ground floor at last. The men's bar lay before me. The lobby was far away in the front of the building. I straightened my tie, tried to appear like an eccentric who always carried a large brown bag with him, and paced into the bar. As I put my hand--still swathed in the linen--to the outer door, the barman cried out, "'Ere, sir!" but I was gone. They would think I was an absconding guest. They would pursue me. But I shouldn't run, didn't dare run, along this street where humans and aliens strolled singly and in couples. I walked as fast as I thought I could without attracting attention. The hue and cry arose behind me. I came to the corner, rounded it without halting, and saw my dear old Jaguar twenty yards off. I ran then, for there was no help, indeed there was deadly peril, in walking any longer. I went with great bounds, brushing aside people and _them_ indiscriminately. Hurling the bag onto the seat, I hurdled it with a last burst of energy, crashed in behind the wheel, and in a flash my motor and I had leaped forward and were on our merry way.