He moved the arm in toward his side with the same smooth stealthiness—and he could see across the lit earth of the yard, clear to the wall. But he could not see the top of the wall. Again he began an infinitely cautious movement. He raised his head, from the neck, with no body change, as though he were a contortionist; the muscle of his throat cracked with the effort.
And then he saw. The guard was pacing back along the beat his gun loose in hand, his back turned.
9009 now crawled, on his belly like a red-ringed snake, into the alley-way.
He crawled by the narrow gut where his knife had lain hidden for more than three years, and went on, writhing, to the second, between the cook-house and bakery. Crouching at the entrance of this, he looked back. He could not see the guard; and he must be invisible to the guard. He rose and went in between the two buildings, squeezing edgewise, his right hand ahead, feeling the wall, until it came against the broken drain-pipe. He dropped his hand into
