Mr. Bailey turned a sickly gray. “Angels in heaven,” he cried, “this place is haunted. We’re getting out of here.” Grabbing his wife he threw open the front door and plunged out.
Teal was too much preoccupied to bother with their departure. There was an answer to all this, an answer that he did not believe. But he was forced to break off considering it because of hoarse shouts from somewhere above him. He lowered the staircase and rushed upstairs. Bailey was in the central room leaning over Mrs. Bailey, who had fainted. Teal took in the situation, went to the bar built into the lounge, and poured three fingers of brandy, which he returned with and handed to Bailey. “Here-this’ll fix her up.”
Bailey drank it.
“That was for Mrs. Bailey,” said Teal.
“Don’t quibble,” snapped Bailey. “Get her another.” Teal took the precaution of taking one himself before returning with a dose earmarked for his client’s wife. He found her just opening her eyes.
“Here, Mrs. Bailey,” he soothed, “this will make you feel better.”
“I never touch spirits,” she protested, and gulped it.
“Now tell me what happened,” suggested Teal. “I thought you two had left.”
“But we did-we walked out the front door and found ourselves up here, in the lounge.”
“The hell you say! Hm-m-m-wait a minute.” Teal went into the lounge. There he found that the big view window at the end of the room was open. He peered cautiously through it. He stared, not out at the California countryside, but into the ground floor room-or a reasonable facsimile thereof. He said nothing, but went back to the stair well which he had left open and looked down it. The ground floor room was still in place. Somehow, it managed to be in two different places at once, on different levels.
He came back into the central room and seated himself opposite Bailey in a deep, low chair, and sighted him past his upthrust bony knees. “Homer,” he said impressively, “do you know what has happened?”
“No, I don’t-but if I don’t find out pretty soon, something is going to happen and pretty drastic, too!”
“Homer, this is a vindication of my theories. This house is a real tesseract.”
“What’s he talking about, Homer?”
“Wait, Matilda-now Teal, that’s ridiculous. You’ve pulled some hanky-panky here and I won’t have it-scaring Mrs. Bailey half to death, and making me nervous. All I want is to get out of here, with no more of your trapdoors and silly practical jokes.”
“Speak for yourself, Homer,” Mrs. Bailey interrupted, “I was not frightened; I was just took all over queer for a moment. It’s my heart; all of my people are delicate and high-strung. Now about this tessy thing-explain yourself, Mr. Teal. Speak up.”
He told her as well as he could in the face of numerous interruptions the theory back of the house. “Now as I see it, Mrs. Bailey,” he concluded, “this house, while perfectly stable in three dimensions, was not stable in four dimensions. I had built a house in the shape of an unfolded tesseract; something happened to it, some jar or side thrust, and it collapsed into its normal shape-it folded up.” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “I’ve got it! The earthquake!”
“Earthquake?”
“Yes, yes, the little shake we had last night. From a four-dimensional standpoint this house was like a plane balanced on edge. One little push and it fell over, collapsed along its natural joints into a stable four-dimensional figure.”
“I thought you boasted about how safe this house was.”
“It is safe-three-dimensionally.”
“I don’t call a house safe,” commented Bailey edgily, “that collapses at the first little temblor.”
“But look around you, man!” Teal protested. “Nothing has been disturbed, not a piece of glassware cracked. Rotation through a fourth dimension can’t affect a three-dimensional figure any more than you can shake letters off a printed page. If you had been sleeping in here last night, you would never have awakened.”
“That’s just what I’m afraid of. Incidentally, has your great genius figured out any way for us to get out of this booby trap?”
“Huh? Oh, yes, you and Mrs. Bailey started to leave and landed back up here, didn’t you? But I’m sure there is no real difficulty-we came in, we can go out. I’ll try it.” He was up and hurrying downstairs before he had finished talking. He flung open the front door, stepped through, and found himself staring at his companions, down the length of the second floor lounge. “Well, there does seem to be some slight problem,” he admitted blandly. “A mere technicality, though-we can always go out a window.” He jerked aside the long drapes that covered the deep French windows set in one side wall of the lounge. He stopped suddenly.