Creation roaring in his open head, divining rod in hand, he stormed out the door and down the hall. Lee and George hurried after him. The presence of their well known minds pleased him. There was George's unexpressed belief that he had "mastered" and guided the Power he feared. There was Lee's worry for him and her keen awareness of human realities. And there, too, were self-discipline, intelligence, affection, and a richness of experience and thought he expected to draw on for another forty years. And filling the world, pounding on the walls of existence, the Power. _His_ power. He, the master of the world! He who could uproot the trees, spin the earth, make the ground shake and change the colors of the sky. He felt George's clear-eyed, good-humored tolerance. A hypnotic command triggered in his mind. He saw a Roman Caesar ride in triumph and the slave behind him said, "Caesar, remember you are mortal." _My_ power? It is a gift from the Fountain of Creation. Mine to use with the wisdom and restraint implanted by my teachers. Or else I'll be destroyed by _my_ power. He laughed and rolled into a cannon ball and hurled his body through the wood. "Andy! Andy, you're losing us!" He picked them up and towed them with him. The girl in the beer hall cried in his heart. The fox is many hills away and the hound grows impatient. They landed in a heap. George said, "Andy, what the hell are you doing?" "I brought you down in a soft spot." "You felt like an elephant running amok! Boy, you've got to be careful. Since you were a little boy I've taught you to watch every move. For a moment I don't think you knew how you felt." "You're right," Sordman mumbled. "That was close." "Let's find the picture," Lee said. "Has the drug worn off?" "Just about. The picture's over by that tree. It feels like it's rumpled up." After a minute's hunt, they found it. It had been rolled into a ball and tossed away. "We're dealing with an amateur," Lee said. "A Talent who was even half-developed would have burned this." Unrolled, the picture fell in half. It had been sliced with a blade. "Let's walk back," Sordman said. "Let's talk." They crossed a log bridge. He ran his hands along the rough bark and smelled the cool water of the stream. Most of the big park was wilderness, but here and there were pavilions, an outdoor theatre, open playing fields and beautifully planned gardens. A man could have a home surrounded by the shops and pleasures of civilized living and yet only be a ten-minute elevator ride from God's bounty. "The fact the killer used the newspaper picture doesn't _prove_ Bedler was the real victim," George said. "But it indicates it." "Let's assume it's true," Sordman said, "and see where it leads us." "Bedler was married," Lee said. "I remember that from our briefing." Sordman rabbit-punched a tree as he passed it. "It was a one-year contract, and it ended two weeks ago." "I smell jealousy," Lee said.