I shoved my head out of the dead zone and took a fast dig, then dropped back in again and lay there re-constructing what I'd perceived mentally. I did it the second time and the third, each time making a rapid scan of some portion of that fourth floor.
In three fast swings, I collected a couple of empty offices, a very complete hospital set-up operating room, and a place that looked like a consultation theatre.
On my fourth scan, I whipped past Scholar Phelps, who was apparently deep in some personal interest.
I rose at once and strode down the hall and snapped the door open just as Phelps' completely unexpecting mind grasped the perceptive fact that someone was coming down his hallway wearing a great big forty five automatic.
"Freeze!" I snapped.
"Put that weapon down, Mr. Cornell. It, nor its use, will get your freedom."
"Maybe all I want out of life is to see you leave it," I told him.
"You'd not be that foolish, I'm sure," he said.
"I might."
He laughed, with all the self-confidence in the world. "Mr. Cornell, you have too much will to live. You're not the martyr type."