Krome must have felt the gentle blows of the blades because his hand reached out of the pillar and brushed at them as though he were shooing a fly. His hand passed through the fan support. There was a shower of sparks and a little smoke curled up. The fan sagged forward on its support and then solidified as Krome’s hand moved on through. I never saw a sorrier looking device than that fan once Krome got through with it. The electricians would be in for a bad few hours trying to figure out what had happened to it. Krome finally reached the floor, stepped out of the pillar, turned off the suit, and heaved a big sigh. He turned around and for the first time got a good look at the Search Room. Most of the chairs were reduced to rubble. Many of the large search tables were overturned and broken and Krome himself stood knee-deep in patents. Krome gave one puzzled and uncomprehending glance at all this. Then he looked at the clock over the door. “Good grief!” he groaned. “Two thirty-five! The Commissioner!” He turned and ran through one of the archways that opened into the stacks. I lit out after him. He had turned the suit on again, except for the soles of the feet. This gave him a decided advantage over me. He could take short cuts through solid walls. He went through the back wall of the stacks without even slowing down. I cut off to one side through the door that led into the foreign art. I stopped and listened. From the other end of the long law room I heard a sudden splintering crash. I raced on in trepidation. A man was standing near the Swedish art. A broken pint bottle lay at his feet and whiskey was lapping at the soles of his shoes. His forefinger was half-crooked in front of his face. But it was his bulging eyes, aimed at a section of the wall, which pointed out the direction Krome had taken. As I turned from him he collapsed, head in hands, and began to sob quietly. I quickly found my way to the back corridor. As I proceeded down it, the now-familiar ruckus started up in the Mail Room. Women screamed, men shouted, and heavy objects thumped on the floor. Krome had used very poor judgment in cutting through the Mail Room. But how was he to know that the people in it were not scientifically-minded? I waited until one of the doors stopped spewing people, and then leaped resolutely inside. One glance convinced me that the Patent Office would not be running smoothly for a considerable period to come. Several of the clerks had dropped to their knees and were praying, some quietly, some loudly.