Pollard's comment in his own shorthand was, "Perfect self-justification."
"Now," said Carroll. "May I show you something that I've stolen from them?"
"Of course."
Carroll opened his suitcase and set the metal podium on the floor. He unrolled the length of silver-plated copper tubing and shaped it into a circle. He fastened the terminals to the podium with thumbscrews. Then he snapped the switch and the shimmering plane appeared.
"Wonderful," said Pollard hollowly. "But what is it?"
Carroll smiled. "You are a hard man to convince," he said. "But now that I have shown you this, I shall show you one of them!"
Carroll stepped into the shimmering plane and disappeared.
Pollard gave a cry of fright and raced around to the other side of the plane but Carroll had gone. Then he shrank from the thing; it was as though the shimmering plane of perfect mirror was beckoning to him. And for one of the few times in his life, Dr. Pollard knew and recognized a psychopathic fear of the Unknown.
Carroll, however, knew the facts. He stepped into the basement of his home with the same motion that had carried him over the podium into the mirror in Pollard's office.