"Look, I guess," said Walt, uncertainly. "I'm not too familiar with this section of the station. When I was first here—many years ago—I spent a lot of spare time roaming and exploring these seldom-used corridors. But my Boy Scout hatchet wouldn't cut trail-blazes on the steel walls."
He laughed a bit thoughtfully, and then he put his hands to his mouth, cupping them like a megaphone, and he yelled:
"Hey! Kingman! We're on to you!"
"But what good will that do?" asked Christine doubtfully.
"Might scare him into action," said Walt. "Easiest way to shoot pa'tridge is to flush it into the open. Otherwise you might walk over a nest and never see it. I—Holy Grease!"
A four foot section of the wall beside them flashed into nothingness with neither sound nor light nor motion. It just disappeared. And as they goggled at the vacant square, an ugly round circle glinted in the light and a sourly-familiar voice invited them in—or else!
"Well," said Walt Franks, exhaling deeply. "If it isn't Our Legal Lamp himself!"
Kingman nodded snappishly. "You were looking for me?"
"We were."
"It's too bad you found me," said Kingman.