From the far end of the room, Veta said faintly, "Is—is it Sanford?"
"The clothes are his." Ross answered in a toneless voice. "Beyond that, I doubt that anyone could say."
He straightened; turned to go.
And there it was, written in slime, chest high on the door's inner side. 3/111 and the outline of a triangle squared.
Standing so he blocked the closet, Ross swung the door all the way back against the wall. "Veta!"
"Yes, Stewart—?" Quickly, she came to him.
He pointed to the symbols on the door. "Do these mean anything to you?"
"Three one-hundred-elevenths of a triangle squared—?" Brow furrowed, she stared at the inscription for a long moment. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't."
"It does to me," Ross said.
Veta's head came round. "It does—? What?"