In a low voice Art said, 'We're not scared, Mrs. Sands. That's not it. We - well, we'd like to have the baby. That's all.'

Myra Sands did not know what to say. She had never, in her practice, run into anything quite like this; it baffled her.

She could see already that this was going to be a bad day.

Between this and Tito's phone call - it was too much. And so early. It was not yet even nine a.m.

In the basement of Pethel Jiff-scuttler Sales & Service, the repairman Rick Erickson prepared, for the second day in a row, to enter the defective 'scuttler of Dr Lurton Sands, Jr. He still had not found what he was searching for.

However, he did not intend to give up. He felt, on an intuitive level, that he was very close. It would not be long now.

From behind him a voice said, 'What are you doing, Rick ?'

Startled, Erickson jumped, glanced around. At the door of the repair department stood his employer, Darius Pethel, heavy-set in the wrinkled dark-brown old-fashioned /i>jerry -type wool suit which he customarily wore.

'Listen,' Erickson said. 'This is Dr Sands' 'scuttler. You can laugh, but I think he's got his mistress in here, somewhere.'

'What ?' Pethel laughed.

'I mean it. I don't think she's dead, even though I talked to Sands long enough to know he could do it if he felt it was necessary - he's that kind of guy. Anyhow nobody's found her, even Mrs.

Sands. Naturally they can't find her, because Lurton's got his 'scuttler in here with us, out of sight. He knows it's here, but they don't. And he doesn't want it back, no matter what he says; he wants it stuck down here, right in this basement.'

Staring at him Pethel said, 'Great fud. Is this what you've been doing on my time ? Working out detective theories ?'

Erickson said, 'This is important! Even if it doesn't mean any money for you. Hell, maybe it does; if I'm lucky and find her, maybe you can sell her back to Mrs. Sands.'

After a pause Darius Pethel shrugged in a philosophical way. 'Okay. So look. If you do find her ?'

Beside Pethel the salesman of the firm, Stuart Hadley, appeared. He said breezily, 'What's up,

Dar ?' As always cheerful and interested.

'Rick's searching for Dr Sands' mistress.' Pethel said. He jerked his thumb at the 'scuttler.

'Is she pretty ?' Hadley asked. 'Well started ?' He looked hungry.

'You've seen her pics in the homeopapes,' Pethel said. 'She's cute. Otherwise why do you suppose the doctor risked his marriage, if she wasn't something exceptional ? Come on, Hadley; I need you upstairs on the floor. We can't all three be down here - someone'll walk away with the register.' He started up the stairs.

'And she's in there ?' Hadley said, looking puzzled as he bent to peer into the 'scuttler. 'I don't see her, Dar.'

Darius Pethel guffawed. 'Neither do I. Neither does Rick, but he's still searching - and on my time, goddam it! Listen, Rick; if you find her she's my mistress, because you're on my time, working for me.'

All three of them laughed at that.

'Okay,' Rick agreed, on his hands and knees, scraping the surface of the 'scuttler tube with the blade of a screwdriver. 'You can laugh and I admit it's funny. But I'm not stopping. Obviously, the rent isn't visible; if it was, Doc Sands wouldn't have dared leave it here. He may think I'm dumb, but not that dumb - he's got it concealed and real well.'

' "Rent,"'Pethel echoed. He frowned, startling back a few steps down the stairs and into the basement once more. 'You mean like Henry Ellis found, years ago ? That rupture in the tube-wall that led to ancient Israel ?'

'Israel is right,' Rick said briefly, as he scraped. His keen, thoroughly-trained eye saw all at once in the surface near at hand a slight irregularity, a distortion. Leaning forward, he reached out his hand...

His groping fingers passed through the wall of the tube and disappeared.

'Jesus,' Rick said. He raised his invisible fingers, felt nothing at first, and then touched the upper edge of the rent. 'I found it,' he said. He looked around, but Pethel had gone. 'Darius!' he yelled, but there was no answer. 'Damn him!' he said in fury to Hadley.

'You found what ?' Hadley asked, starting cautiously into the tube. 'You mean you found the

Vale woman ? Cally Vale ?'

Headfirst, Rick Erickson crept into the rent.

He sprawled, snatching for support; falling, he struck hard ground and cursed. Opening his eyes, he saw, above, a pale blue sky with a few meager clouds. And, around him, a meadow. Bees, or what looked something more or less like bees, buzzed in tall-stemmed white flowers as large as saucers. The air smelled of sweetness, as if the flowers had impregnated the atmosphere itself.

I'm there, he said to himself. I got through; this is where Doc Sands hid his mistress to keep her from testifying for Mrs. Sands at the trial or hearing or whatever it's called. He stood up, cautiously. Behind him he made out a hazy shimmer: the nexus with the tube of the Jiffi-scuttler back in the store's basement in Kansas City. I want to keep my bearings, he said to himself warily. If I get lost, I may not be able to get back again and that might be bad.

Where is this ? he asked himself. Must work that out - now.

Gravity like Earth's. Must be Earth, then, he decided. Long time ago ? Long time in the future ?

Think what this is worth; the hell with the man's mistress, the hell with him and his personal problems - that's nothing. He looked wildly around for some sign of habitation, for something animal-like, or human; something to tell him what epoch this was, past or future, Saber-tooth tiger, maybe. Or trilobite. No, too late for the trilobite already; look at those bees. This is the break Terran Development has been trying to uncover for thirty years now, he said to himself.

And the rat that found it used it for his own sneaky goings-on, as a place merely to hide his doxie. What a world! Erickson began slowly to walk, step by step...

Far off, a figure moved.

Shading his eyes against the glare of the sky, Rick-Erickson tried to make out what it was.

Primitive man ? Cro-Magnon or some such thing ? Big-domed inhabitant of the future, perhaps ?

He squinted - it was a woman; he could tell by her hair. She wore slacks and she was running toward him. Cally, he thought. Doc Sands' mistress, hurrying toward me. Must think I'm Sands.

In panic, he halted; what'll I do ? He wondered. Maybe I better go back, think this out. He started to turn in the direction he had come.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl's arm come up swiftly.

No, he thought. Don't.

He stumbled as he snatched at the hazy, small loop which connected the two environments, entrance to the 'scuttler tube.

The red glow of an aimed laser-beam passed over his head.

You missed me, he thought in terror. But - he clawed! for the entrance, found it, began to struggle back through. But next time. Next time!

'Stop,' he shouted at her without looking at heir. His voice echoed in the bee-zooming plain of flowers.

The second laser-beam caught him in the back.

He put his hand out, saw it pass through the haze and disappear beyond. It was safe, but he was not. She had killed him; it was too late, now, too late to get away from her. Why didn't she wait ? he asked himself. Find out who I was ? Must have been afraid.

Again the laser-beam nicked. It touched the back of his head and that was that. There was no returning for him, no reentry into the safety of the tube.

Rick Erickson was dead.

Standing on the far side, in the tube of Dr Sands' Jiffi-scuttler, Stuart Hadley waited nervously, then saw Rick Erickson's fingers jerk through the wall near the floor; the fingers writhed, and

Hadley stooped down and grabbed Erickson by the wrist. Trying to get back, he realized, and pulled Erickson by the arm with all his strength. It was a corpse that he drew into the tube beside him.