facial characteristics as best he could. His
clothing, too, had to stay on. He roughed it up a bit, adding a year's
wear to it.

For what it was worth, he didn't look quite the same as yesterday.
Seedier and older. It was a process he couldn't keep extending
indefinitely. He would not have to, of course. One way or the other, it
would be decided soon.

He shredded the bag and his extra clothing, tossing them into the
disposal chute. No use giving the police something to paw over, to
deduce from it what they could. The tiny spray gun he kept, and the tube
of makeup. He might need them once more.

It was close to noon when he left the room. There were lots of people on
the streets and only a few policemen. Again he had an advantage.

He found a pay screen and began the search. Doctor Doumya Filone wasn't
listed with the police and that seemed strange. A moment's reflection
showed that it wasn't. If she were officially connected, she might not
show the sympathy she had.

Neither was she listed on the staff of the emergency hospital in which
he'd been a patient. He had a number through which he could reach her,
but he resisted an impulse to use it. It was certain the police wouldn't
confine their efforts to the instrument check. They knew he had that
number and they'd have someone on it, tracing everyone who called her.

Noon passed and his stomach called attention to it. He hadn't eaten
since yesterday. He took a short break, ate hurriedly, and resumed the
search.

Doumya Filone was difficult to find. It was getting late and he had
ascertained she wasn't on the staff of any hospital not listed for
private practice.

He finally located her almost by accident. She had an office with
Medical Research Incorporated. That was the only thing registered under
her name.

Evening came early to Venus, as it always did under the massive cloud
formations. He got off the air cab a few blocks from his destination and
walked the rest of the way.

Inside the building, he paused in the lobby and found her office.
Luckily it was in a back wing. He wandered through the corridors, got
lost once, and found the route again. The building was almost empty by
this time.

Her name was on the door. Dr. Doumya Filone. Research Neurological
Systems, whatever that meant. There was a light in the office, a dim
one. He eased the door open. It wasn't locked, which meant, he hadn't
tripped an alarm.

* * * *