Something had whisked past the archway leading into the foyer.
"Don't pay any attention," Gloria smiled nervously. "The house is haunted."
"My dear," one of the ladies offered, "I know of the most marvelous exterminator—"
"The house," Gloria assured her coldly, "really is haunted. We've been seeing things ever since we moved in."
And she really believed it, Bill thought. Believed that the house was haunted, that is. Of course he had seen things too—but he was enlightened enough to know that ghosts don't exist, even if you do see them.
Professor Falabella cleared his throat. "As I was saying, it is possible to send the individual through another—well, dimension, as some popular writers would have it, to one of his other spatial existences on the same temporal plane. It is merely necessary for him to find the Door."
"Nonsense!" Bill interrupted. "Holy, unmitigated nonsense!"
Every head swivelled to look at him. Gloria restrained tears with an effort.
"Brute," someone muttered.
But ridicule apparently only stimulated the professor. He beamed. "You don't believe me. Your imagination cannot extend to the comprehension of the multifariousness of space."