A soft far-off voice laughed, as if the house were laughing in its sleep.
The hand let go, the door opened, Joh Fredersen reeled into the street.
The door closed behind him. In the gloomy wood of the door glowed, copper-red, the seal of Solomon, the pentagram.
When Joh Fredersen was about to enter the brain-pan of the New Tower of Babel Slim stood before him, seeming to be slimmer than ever.
“What is it?” asked Joh Fredersen.
Slim made to speak but at the sight of his master the words died on his lips.
“Well—?” said Joh Fredersen, between his teeth.
Slim breathed deeply.
“I must inform you, Mr. Fredersen,” he said, “that, since your son left this room, he has disappeared!”
“What does that mean? ... disappeared!”