In an instant there were skimmers in hot pursuit, but the cloud bank loomed close, towering and opaque. Now the wisps of white were about them, and a curious, acrid smell filtered in through the aerating system. The odor of ozone. The skimmer began to shudder violently, tossing them about in their seats. "I have never experienced such turbulence," Stephen exclaimed. "I believe this is no ordinary cloud!" "You are right," the henna-haired young man said. "This is sanctuary." * * * * * "Who are you?" Stephen said. "Why are you running from the police?" "Apparently you don't read the newspapers." "I keep abreast of the advances in technology and philosophy." "I meant the tabloid news. There _is_ such a page, you know, in the back of every newspaper. No, no; I perceive that you never would allow yourself to become interested in such plebeian goings-on. Therefore, let me introduce myself. I am called Turpan." "The Bedchamber Assassin! I knew that I'd seen your face somewhere." "So you _do_ sneak and read the scandals, like most of your mechanics' caste. Tch, tch! To think that you secretly admire _us_, who live upon the brink and savor life while it lasts." "I could hardly admire you. You are credited with killing twelve women." Stephen shuddered. Turpan inclined his handsome head sardonically. "Such is the artistic license of the press. Actually there were only nine--until this morning, I regret to say. And one of those died in the ecstacy of awakening to find me hovering over her virginal bed. I suppose she had a weak heart. I kill only when it is unavoidable. But so long as my lady _will_ wear jewels and keep them on her boudoir dressing table--" He shrugged. "Naturally, I am sometimes interrupted." "And then you murder them." "Let us say that I make them a sporting proposition. I am not bad to look upon--I think you will admit that fact. Unless they happen to be hysterical to begin with, I can invariably dominate them. Face the facts, my stodgy technician. Murder is a term for equals. A woman is a lesser, though a fascinating, creature. The law of humane grace does not apply equally to her. It must be a humiliating thing to be a woman, and yet it is necessary that a supply of them be provided. Must we who are fortunate in our male superiority deny our natures to keep from trampling them occasionally? No indeed. 'Sensualists are they; a trouble and a terror is the hero to them. Thus spake Zarathustra'." "That is a quotation from an ancient provincial who was said to be as mad as you are," Stephen said, rallying slightly, but revising his opinion of the uncouthness of his captor. "I have studied the old books," Turpan said. "They are mostly pap, but once I thought that the answers might be discovered there. You may set down now." "But we must be miles from any land." "Take a look," Turpan said. And Stephen looked down through the clearing mists and beheld an island.