Presumably the half-conscious Duckpath had made the oncoming men pause. Ripping sounds could be heard, and a horrible strangled cry. They were relieving the High Official of his personal belongings--and probably of his life. But the People from the floor below were now surging up the stairs, joined by four men from the crowd that had first seen Joan. "Get the dame! Government meat!" The cry came booming up to Glen and Joan. They stumbled into the corridor at the next landing, realizing they would never make it up the next flight before the mob reached them. They were both fumbling with their maps. "There's a small Class-3 right around here," Joan waved her map in his face. She raced along the wall for a few yards and then clapped Duckpath's key to it. A panel slid back and she slipped inside. "Thank God!" She glanced around her. "Darling, it's only a single. Too bad." There was obviously no room for another person, Glen saw with dismay. Joan and the air-freshening apparatus took up all the space. "Hurry and find another, sweets." She pitched him the Class-2 key, and blew him a kiss as the door slid shut. It would open again only after sundown, when People's Day was officially over. A mass of screaming People burst from the stairway, and raised a great shout on seeing Glen. He dashed down the corridor, turned left, and then turned right at the next passageway. He was in a long corridor ending in a large window opening on the outside. Glen squinted at his map through eyes that refused to focus. He suddenly realized they were streaming with tears. There was a Class-4 shelter several paces along on the left. He rushed to it and pressed the High Official's key to the square. A dim red light glowed through the plastic of the key. Full. He pounded on the panel. Of course it was soundproof. Of course the shelter was full of wise Civil Servants. Only the fumble-fingered and the feeble-witted, only the chaff.... The People came pouring around the corner as Glen backed toward the end of the corridor. A stone sang past him and smashed through the window. Another caught him in the ribs. He backed faster, now completely blinded by tears. The growl of hatred from the mob grew louder. A heavy blow struck his collarbone and he lurched backward. His knees caught, and then he was flipping over. Out and down. He sailed through the air. The pressure of the mob was gone. There was no time to think. There was just an exhilarating sense of flight, of space, of freedom. * * * * * Editorial from the _Albany Evening Star_: _A MOST SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE'S DAY_ People's Day is over again. For four more years peace and order reign over the land. We feel that this year's Day was one of the most successful in history. The damage seemed to be substantially less than usual. Among those no longer with us are: