"That's just it, I don't know." Faircloth sprang to his feet, his face white. "Look, Bob, the building was virtually escape-proof. The boys had every exit guarded three ways from Sunday. The power was off in the entire building, and there was no way he could get out short of walking through walls. And we had the walls guarded just in case he could. We got him sewed up, and then we went in to get him, and WHAMMO!" Faircloth clenched his fists, trembling. "I don't want to go through that again, Bob, not for anything. It was murderous. And the horrible part of it was that he wasn't using his full power on me. What I got was just a gentle rap on the knuckles—"
"And he slid through."
"Clean. Smashed the cameras; got away without leaving a trace."
Roberts shook his head, and fished a folder from his desk. "He didn't smash all the cameras." He shoved the pictures across to Paul. "See what you make of those."
Faircloth blinked at them. There were several frames, obviously printed from motion film. Pictures of a man-like figure running down a passageway. The face was not visible. "Not much help," said Faircloth. "Gives us a clothing description, maybe. Nothing else. He certainly looks human enough!"
Roberts nodded sourly. "At that distance anything would. Can't even get reliable measurements. And you didn't even see him?"
Faircloth shook his head. "Like I said, the whole approach is sour. You're never going to get him this way."
"You've got some ideas, I suppose?"
"I have."
"Well, thank God somebody has." Some of the tiredness left Roberts' face. "Let's have them."