Wilson sat up with a jerk, then turned his head slowly around. He fervently hoped that there was someone behind him. Otherwise―
He perceived the stranger with relief. "Thank God," he said to himself. "For a moment I thought I had come unstuck." His relief turned to extreme annoyance. "What the devil are you doing in my room?" he demanded. He shoved back his chair, got up and strode over to the one door. It was still locked, and bolted on the inside.
The windows were no help; they were adjacent to his desk and three stories above a busy street. "How did you get in?" he added.
"Through that," answered the stranger, hooking a thumb toward the circle. Wilson noticed it for the first time, blinked his eyes and looked again. There it hung between them and the wall, a great disk of nothing, of the color one sees when the eyes are shut tight.
Wilson shook his head vigorously. The circle remained. "Gosh," he thought, "I was right the first time. I wonder when I slipped my trolley?" He advanced toward the disk, put out a hand to touch it.
"Don't!" snapped the stranger.
"Why not?" said Wilson edgily. Nevertheless he paused.
"I'll explain. But let's have a drink first." He walked directly to the wardrobe, opened it, reached in and took out the bottle of gin without looking.
"Hey!" yelled Wilson. "What are you doing there? That's my liquor."
"Your liquor―" The stranger paused for a moment. "Sorry. You don't mind if I have a drink, do you?"