Another elevator jarred to a stop, doors opened, and the searchers bolted out. Chester's face was like a purple plum, his eyes were red and wild. The long chase was teasingly close to ending, and could be frustrated forever. The interne turned and thumbed his nose at Forge, who gave a bellow of anger. As the men surged toward him, the attendant sprinted a few yards, reached out and touched a patient. The halls were full of them; attracted by the excitement. Unobtrusively the patient touched another, who in turn touched another, who disappeared in the crowd. "Go back to your rooms," shouted the director of the hospital. "You are impeding a hunt for a fugitive." But the patients didn't see any fugitive, and they stayed, and more kept coming. There was a disconcerting blur of thought-emotion in the patient Minnn was using. The pursuers were the length of the hall away; he caused his host to turn, shriek a bad word, and thumb her nose at them. They came running, impeded by the crowd. The patient turned a corner, touched another patient, who touched another. It was quite an experience, Minnn decided. He had whirled through a rich kaleidoscope of minds and emotions; in one woman there had been a fountain of ecstacy he would have to go back and sample sometime. He had come to the perfect place. Except as he chose to do it, to tease, these inmates could not reveal him, and no Ravian could detect him. He could stay here an indefinite length of time--wait them out--then go back to the toy chest where his husk lay--or trace Sally Odum's memory for it in case she had moved it--and repossess himself. He could learn to live on this planet--perhaps he could even get governmental sanctuary, though that was not essential. He would not be lonely. Ravians do not get lonely. They do, however, have a sense of power. But the pursuers were coming down the hall, the Ravian in the talking-attendant attempting to sort through the twisted minds, the person from the tourist service almost out of his own mind. And though Minnn was having sport, he was a little tired. He turned the eyes of his host toward the group of hunters, and saw that they had stopped coming and stood talking. He walked his host to a window-bench, sat it down, turned its mind toward slumber, and relaxed. * * * * * Chester had to have a plan, and, driven to unwonted efficiency by the threat of bureaucratic disgrace and exile, his mind began to form one. The plan was not without its dangers, especially to Chester, but it was the only plan they had. Power was shut off to all elevators, and at the flip of a switch all the doors on the group's floor were locked. "We've got him penned on this floor," said Chester. "I only hope he doesn't come across a mouse."