"Oh, yes. I remember that in chemistry," Molly said. "But the police wouldn't let them, McGill, would they?" "I've got an idea--" I tried to break in. "They might not be able to stop them," McGill replied. "We've got to get _out_ of here!" Molly said for the second time. "If a diamond--" I began. "With a helicopter, we might," McGill said. "Right now, we're surrounded." "How about hiding Alec?" Molly asked. "You and I could act innocent." "I don't _want_ to be hidden," I objected. "My idea is--" "Or better yet, we could act guilty. That would appeal to them, wouldn't it, McGill?" "They'd tear the place apart if they got in," McGill said. * * * * * I took a surreptitious look out of the windows again. It seemed to hit me that our being surrounded was an exaggeration; most of the crowd was centered about the police car directly in front of the main door. They had an ugly look, and while I didn't like the idea of being alone, neither did I relish the thought of my presence possibly causing my wife and my best friend to be the victims of mob violence, for although the police might, in the absence of a warrant, refrain from breaking in, the mob might not. So I decided to leave, confident that some bizarre manifestation would lead them away from the lab, and that no matter where I went, I could hardly be worse off. To keep moving was my best bet. Molly and McGill were still discussing the situation as I tip-toed into the hall. There surely would be a back door--probably in the basement--and I went down three flights to a cement-floored corridor. Then, with lighted matches, I found my way to a door at the back of the building, at the end. I opened it and peered out, to see a retaining wall and stone steps leading up to ground level. I eased out into the areaway and pulled the door shut, noticing that I still held the folded filter-paper with the fragment in it. The lock clicked and I realized that my bridge was, as they say, burned behind me. Two cops were talking together a little way to my right, but their backs were turned and they were looking up. I, too, looked and saw the whirlpool of debris, which was exactly as Molly had described and quite as attention-calling. Clutching the filter-paper like a talisman, I climbed the steps and gumshoed away to the left, but as I got to the corner, I met a group of young men, also looking up. One of these was saying, "That's a lynch mob, if ever I saw one! I don't get it." "Mob psychology, that's the answer," explained another. My heart congealed, but they walked right by me. It suddenly occurred to me that any newspapers that had carried the story would scarcely have been able to dig up a photograph of me yet. All I had to do was to walk out of the campus, for who would recognize me? Where I would go then was something I could decide later.