Ten minutes later he was trying to cut it, without success. It would bend between the blades of the scissors, or stop them from coming together at all. But it wouldn't cut. "It's indestructible on this plane of existence," Dorothy said. "Now I believe you, Lin." "I'm glad you do," Lin said dryly. "So now it's clear what I should do. My job is to hide this someplace where Hugo Fairchild can never find it. You can go your way and forget about it." Dorothy shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm going with you. We'll face this together. I--I couldn't stand the suspense of wondering when Fairchild would catch up with you and get it." "You'd get used to it," Lin said. "After all, everyone has to die sometime, and no one spends much time worrying about when it will come." "But this isn't the same," Dorothy said stubbornly. "That man is after it, and when he gets it we'll die. I'm sticking with you--and that piece of paper." Lin went to the window and peeked out. Fairchild was still in sight, watching the main entrance of the hospital. "Okay," he said, turning back to Dorothy. "Go to your room and put on your street clothes. We're going to leave now. We'll sneak out the back way." * * * * * Lin watched the door close, then went to work. Folding the piece of paper several times until it was a compact square, he taped it to his side under his left armpit where it couldn't be noticed. He dressed swiftly, wrote a hurried note informing the hospital he wasn't sneaking out to avoid paying his bill. He left the note on the bed in plain sight and started toward the door. Just as he reached it he remembered Dorothy's hospital bill. He went back and added a P.S. for the hospital to put her on his bill. Opening the door, he peeked out. A nurse was in the hall. He watched her until she went into a room, then slipped out and hurried toward the stairs. He was grinning to himself. Dorothy wouldn't have had time yet to get dressed. And he had no intention of waiting for her. It would be too dangerous. She would find him gone. She would be unable to find him. And eventually she would take up her life where it had left off. In time she would forget him and think the whole thing a dream. That was the best way. He passed people on the stairway without meeting anyone who would recognize him. In the basement the risk was greater. There were dozens of people. But no one stopped him as he hurried toward the exit. They considered him just a visitor, he reflected. The critical moment was just ahead of him now. A hundred questions were tormenting him. How had Fairchild known which hospital he was in? How had Fairchild known it was he who had stolen that paper? He shrugged the questions off. There was no way of knowing now. If Fairchild had powers that would enable him to discern that he was sneaking out the back way and be there waiting for him, he'd just have to make the best of it.