This night he had come home a bit tired, gone directly to greet his loving wife, and then decided to put a stop to the gnawing question.
While Melinee fried the chicken, Ernie walked carefully and wordlessly to the dim hallway. He went past the staircase, past the telephone, to the darkest spot between the living room and the study. He stood for a strange moment—there was no extra door.
He felt the refinished wall, his fingertips searching for hidden panels. There was none.
"Supper's ready," Melinee called. "Ernie?"
But it had been there last night, the night before, the night before that, and the very first night the real estate agent brought them over. In fact, he recalled, that was the reason the agent had been uncertain about the number of rooms. And why had he passed it off as a joke, simply turning from the extra door without opening it?
Ernie felt again.
It was ceasing to be a joke. He was not a man of hallucinations. He was not a victim of superstition, fear or near-sightedness. He only wanted to know why he saw a door one day and didn't see it the next.
He called a comforting word to his wife, then reached for the telephone book. He found the name of Hartley and Hartley, Real Estate. PLaza 0-6633. Without any undue commotion, he dialed. In a moment, a woman's voice at the other end seemed to barge into his life.
"Special operator. Number, please?"
"PLaza 0-6633."