The blue door vanished.
It simply went out like a light, leaving the ISP man staring stupidly at the blank wall of the theatre.
Thorpe snapped off the televisor. Vickers could see that he was chuckling.
"The fun's over," he said. "But they'll be nosing around there for a week. There's really no door there, you know."
"Yes, I know. But I'll be damned if I understand."
"You will," Thorpe said cryptically. Then he switched on the inter-office com. "Miss Stevens, see that this memo is circulated throughout the organization. 'Due to a police raid, the new offices of International Spy Ring, Inc., are located at B624-1/2 Water Street, Level Three'."
He clicked it off, stared at Vickers coldly. All the friendliness was gone.
"Suppose we quit fencing. We know your history, Vickers. You used to claim that you could arrange the escape of any prisoner, no matter where he was being held—for a price. You made monkeys out of the ISP for a while. How many men have you broken out of the Jupiter Penal Mines and readjustment camps?"
"I don't know," said Vickers. "It was a good racket while it lasted."