"It can be done," he whispered fiercely. "It can be crossed!"
"But what on—" I started. He cut me off with a wave of his hand, pointing back to the gray screen covering the hole in the ceiling.
Goering had put the pistol back in the holster at his side, and was grinning sheepishly at der Fuehrer, who was resuming his seat behind the desk in confused and angry embarrassment.
The voices picked up again.
"They're saying how silly, to be startled by a sound," Stoddard hissed in my ear.
Then he grabbed my arm. "But come, we can't wait any longer. Something has to be done immediately."
He was pulling me away from the rent in the ceiling, away from the door that had joined our time and space to the time and space of a world and scene five years ago.
As we emerged from the attic and started blinkingly down the steps, Stoddard almost ran ahead of me.
"We must hurry," he said again and again.
"To where?" I demanded bewilderedly. "Hadn't we better do something about th—"