him:
the blotched face, pale now, the damp forehead, the quivering jowls. The
fat man stooped for his hat, slapped it against his leg, clamped it on
his head.

"I think I understand now," said Brett. "This is your place, this
imitation city. Everything's faked to fit your needs--like in the hotel.
Wherever you go, the scene unrolls in front of you. You never see the
Gels, never discover the secret of the golems--because you conform. You
never do the unexpected."

"That's right. I'm law-abiding. I'm respectable. I don't pry. I don't
nose into other people's business. Why should I? Just let me alone ..."

"Sure," Brett said. "Even if I dragged you down there and showed you,
you wouldn't believe it. But you're not in the scene now. I've taken you
out of it--"

Suddenly the fat man turned and ran a few yards, then looked back to see
whether Brett was pursuing him. He shook a round fist.

"I've seen your kind before," he shouted. "Troublemakers."

Brett took a step toward him. The fat man yelped and ran another fifty
feet, his coat tails bobbing. He looked back, stopped, a fat figure
alone in the empty sunny street.

"You haven't seen the last of me!" he shouted. "We know how to deal with
your kind." He tugged at his vest, went off along the sidewalk. Brett
watched him go, then started back toward the hollow building.

* * * * *

The jagged fragments of masonry Brett had knocked from the wall lay as
he had left them. He stepped through the opening, peered down into the
murky pit, trying to judge its depth. A hundred feet at least. Perhaps a
hundred and fifty.

He unslung the rope from his shoulder, tied one end to the brass stump,
threw the coil down the precipitous side. It fell away into darkness,
hung swaying. It was impossible to tell whether the end reached any
solid footing below. He couldn't waste any more time looking for help.
He would have to try it alone.

There was a scrape of shoe leather on the pavement outside. He turned,
stepped out into the white sunlight. The fat man rounded the corner,
recoiled as he saw Brett. He flung out a pudgy forefinger, his
protruding eyes wide in his blotchy red face.

"There he is! I told you he came this way!" Two uniformed policemen came
into view. One eyed the gun at Brett's side, put a hand on his own.

"Better take that off, sir."

"Look!" Brett said to the fat man. He stooped, picked up a crust of
masonry. "Look at this--just