The chorus of remarks with which the Wolvers would otherwise have received this was checked by one thing: the fact that Rosalind seemed not to hear it. Whatever was on her mind prevented even that incredible statement from penetrating. She walked shakily to the table and put down a briefcase, one end of which was smudged with dirt. Without looking at them, she said, "Ivan left the Deep Space Bar twenty minutes ago, said he was coming straight here. On my way back I searched the path. Midway I found this half-buried in the dirt. I had to tug to get it out--almost as if it had been cemented into the ground. Do you feel how the dirt seems to be _in_ the leather, as if it had lain for years in the grave?" By now the others were fingering the small case of microfilms they had seen so many times in Ivan's competent hands. What Rosalind said was true. It had a gritty, unwholesome feel to it. Also, it felt strangely heavy. "And see what's written on it," she added. They turned it over. Scrawled with white pencil in big, hasty, frantic letters were two words: "Going down!" * * * * * _The other gods_, Dotty dreamt, _are combing the whole Universe for us. We have escaped them many times, but now our tricks are almost used up. There are no doors going out of the Universe and our boats are silver beacons to the hunters. So we decide to disguise them in the only way they can be disguised. It is our last chance._ * * * * * Edmund rapped the table to gain the family's attention. "I'd say we've done everything we can for the moment to find Ivan. We've made a thorough local search. A wider one, which we can't conduct personally, is in progress. All helpful agencies have been alerted and descriptions are being broadcast. I suggest we get on with the business of the evening--which may very well be connected with Ivan's disappearance." One by one the others nodded and took their places at the round table. Celeste made a great effort to throw off the feeling of unreality that had engulfed her and focus attention on her microfilms. "I'll take over Ivan's notes," she heard Edmund say. "They're mainly about the Deep Shaft." "How far have they got with that?" Frieda asked idly. "Twenty-five miles?" "Nearer thirty, I believe," Edmund answered, "and still going down." At those last two words they all looked up quickly. Then their eyes went toward Ivan's briefcase. * * * * *