“Rubbish,” snorted the fat man. “Abracadabra. Om viani jfadme hum. How could a man have planned a snowfall? You’re talking gibberish.”
“I didn’t say a human plan, Doctor.”
“Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish!”
“You may as well save your breath. You’re a badly scared little boy whistling in the dark — for all your bulk, Doctor.”
Ellery gripped the broom tightly and stamped out across the driveway. He felt his own foot shrinking as he tried to make it step upon the white rectangle. His muscles were gathered in, as if in truth he expected to encounter the adamantine bulk of a house which was still there but unaccountably impalpable. When he felt nothing but cold air, he laughed a little self-consciously and began to wield the broom on the snow in a peculiar manner. He used the most delicate of sweeping motions, barely brushing the surface crystals away; so that layer by layer he reduced the depth of the snow. He scanned each layer with anxiety as it was uncovered. And he continued to do this until the ground itself lay revealed; and at no depth did he come across the minutest trace of a human imprint.
“Elves,” he complained. “Nothing less than elves. I confess it’s beyond me.”
“Even the foundation—” began Dr. Reinach heavily.
Ellery poked the tip of the broom at the earth. It was hard as corundum.
The front door slammed as Thorne and the two women crept into the White House. The three men outside stood still, doing nothing.
“Well,” said Ellery at last, “this is either a bad dream or the end of the world.” He made off diagonally across the plot, dragging the broom behind him like a tired charwoman, until he reached the snow-covered drive; and then he trudged down the drive towards the invisible road, disappearing around a bend under the stripped white-dripping trees.