light of excitement danced in her bright blue eyes. Finally she held it in a position to tear it.

"Shall I?" she said.

Lin nodded. She hesitated a moment, dramatically, then abruptly pulled her hands in a shearing movement that should have torn it easily.

It didn't.

"Here, let me do it," Lin said.

He took it and tried to tear it, without success. He grunted, and exerted every ounce of strength. It remained intact.

"That's funny," he said. "It tore easily when I grabbed it from Fate."

"Let's burn a little corner of it and see what happens," Dorothy suggested.

Lin went to the bedside stand and got his lighter. He held the flame to one corner of the sheet of paper. A minute went by, two minutes. The paper refused to burn or even char.

"Huh!" Lin said, snapping his lighter shut. "Well, it's a cinch that scissors will cut it. I'll ask the nurse to bring us a pair."

Ten minutes later he was trying to cut it, without success. It would bend between the blades of the scissors, or stop them from coming together at all. But it wouldn't cut.

"It's indestructible on this plane of existence," Dorothy said. "Now I believe you, Lin."

"I'm glad you do," Lin said dryly. "So now it's clear what I should do. My job is to hide this someplace where Hugo Fairchild can never find it. You can go your way and forget about it."

Dorothy shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm going with you. We'll face this together. I—I couldn't stand the suspense of wondering when Fairchild would catch up with you and get it."

"You'd get used to it," Lin said. "After all, everyone has to die sometime, and no one spends much time worrying about when it will come."

"But this isn't the same," Dorothy said stubbornly. "That man is after it, and when he gets it we'll die. I'm sticking with you—and that piece of paper."

Lin went to the window and peeked out. Fairchild was still in sight, watching 

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