"Look, Peter, if this ... and it must go somewhere ... lands close by, it'll be returned. Perhaps we'll get a letter, too, telling us where. If it lands in some distant country, we'll probably get it back with a letter telling us that I sure did get around."
"You feel certain that it will land somewhere on earth."
Tony Andrews nodded. "There is no pressure gradient worthy of the name across the face of this," he said. "Though there is a very slight motion of air through the ring. That means that the air pressure on either side of this ding busted ring is about the same. Funny, though, it sort of blows both ways."
Peter nodded. From either side he poked forefingers in. At the plane of cleavage, both fingers passed forward into—through—one another, giving an appearance very much like poking the forefinger into a pool of mercury.
Andrews shuddered. Then he took the little circlet, held the ring sidewise, and dropped the tag from the key ring through it. Through the ring they heard it clang onto the floor.
Peter took the ring from Andrews and put it horizontal, close to the floor. He put a finger through it and probed.
He said: "Ah!" and put thumb and forefinger through the ring and came up with the tag.
"What's down there?" asked Andrews.
"Feels like wood." Peter poked a ruler through and measured the distance. About two inches differed between the concrete of Peter's basement floor and the wood surface of the other.