The whistling stopped abruptly and, slowly, the door opened. The reporters rushed in immediately.
Beryl gripped Stern's hand convulsively. "He's come back."
"Yes, but that mustn't change our plans, Beryl dear."
"But, Al ... Oh, why were we so foolish?"
"Not foolish, dear. Not at all foolish. Now we have to go in."
Inside the room was the large sphere of metalloy. It had lost its original gleam and was stained and battered, standing silent, closed, enigmatic.
"Where's the door?" called the first reporter.
The sphere rested on a number of metal stilts, reaching out from the lower hemisphere, which held it about three feet from the floor, like a great pincushion turned upside down.
Slowly, a round section of the sphere's wall swung outward and steps descended. As they touched the floor, both reporters, caught by the same idea, sprinted for it and fought to see which would climb it first.
"Wait!" shouted Stern.