Again there was no sense of motion. They had simply stepped through a bright wall they could not feel. They found themselves in a replica of the room they had left at 701. On the wall, a picture of the continuous club-car corridor rolled toward them in a silent, endless stream.
"The same room," Ann said in disappointment. "They just changed the number. We haven't been anywhere."
Snader was fishing under his shirt for the key. He gave Ann a glance that was almost a leer. Then he carefully unlocked the door.
In the hall, a motherly old lady bustled up, but Snader brushed past her. "Official," he said, showing her the key. "No lodging."
He unlocked the front door without another word and carefully shut it behind them as Jeff and Ann followed him out of the house.
"Hey, where's my car?" Jeff demanded, looking up and down the street.
The whole street looked different. Where he had parked his roadster, there was now a long black limousine.
"Your car is in future," Snader said briskly. "Where it belong. Get in." He opened the door of the limousine.