"We've got him. That leads to the roof. He can't get off!" He charged
the steps followed by the pack of Venusians.
At the roof Bemmelman paused, shoved up the trap. With considerable
respect for his own skin, he ordered one of the serfs through first.
"Careful," he advised. "The man's desperate."
The serf climbed fatalistically onto the roof, turned around and around.
"He's not here."
"Impossible!" The planter roared and squeezed his bulk through the
opening.
The green phosphorescent glow of the vegetation lit the flat roof
eerily. A raucous screech from some night flying bird floated down from
the cloud mass overhead. There was no plane, no sign of a plane; but
the man with the hood was gone.