“Hello, Schor,” Hall said on the telephone. “I’m on my way to Martin’s. I know it’s got him. I’m dropping by to see if Donna’s all right. Then I’m heading straight for Martin’s.” There was a long pause. Then Schor said: “Let us stand by this time.” “That wouldn’t do any good,” Hall told him. “It might,” Schor persisted. “This one’s the worst. I don’t want anything--” “--to happen to me?” Hall smiled. “I’m afraid you’re getting sentimental in your old age.” “Just give me the word to stand by,” Schor pleaded. “You’d only get yourself killed. You wouldn’t stand a chance. You’ve always wanted to stand by, but you know damn well if I can’t swing it, then you couldn’t do a thing--except die.” “Well--be careful,” Schor warned. “For God’s sake, Hall, be careful. This is the last one. If something happened to you now, after we’ve gotten clear through to the last one--” “It’s too late to worry,” Hall said. “Oh ... and tell your wife I really enjoyed our long talk the other night about Plato. Tell her I still don’t agree with her that he was anything but a detriment to history, but that it was a very pleasant evening.” “Yes, yes--all right. I’ll tell her.” “Good-bye!” * * * * * Hall stared at the door. Donna wasn’t there to greet him. He knew that she had been in the apartment only a few minutes before. But she wasn’t anywhere in the three-room hideaway now. He knew as well that no one had arrived before him to spirit her away. She had gone because a part of her over which she had no control had forced her to go. Back to Martin’s--and the Servitor. She had looked too long and too deeply at No. 999, and now she was gone. The power of the Servitors resided solely in the weakness of the human beings who looked at them, and were looked at in return. And no one was immune, Hall remembered with horror as he ran back down the stairs to get a cab to take him to the airport. No one--not even Donna. She had resisted all the others, with Hall’s constant support. But No. 999 had looked too deeply. And Donna was just a little too hungry for love. True, there was no better operative than Donna. But she was human and--she believed in magic. Unfortunately a belief in magic was common among primitive tribes, and universal among children, and it lingered on in every civilized human being. Every modern man and woman had some one deep desire, stronger than all the others, and that desire was fortified by the feeling that if this one big urge could be satisfied, they would then be free of anxiety--made whole, and utterly happy. It was a reaching out for some kind of Nirvana. Donna covered up her deep unconscious loneliness well enough. She was pretty enough. But unconsciously she believed in the magic of a great love that would cure everything. And the trouble with the Servitors was that when they looked at you, you became convinced that they could give you the one thing you wanted most on earth.