inside

project—”
Barney shook his head. “No problem, doctor. We’d be drawing on outside talent for help in specific matters—very easy to cover up any leads to you personally. I’ve handled that general sort of thing before.”
McAllen frowned thoughtfully. “I see. But I’d have—There wouldn’t be so much work that—”
“No,” Barney said. “I guarantee that you’ll have all the time you want for your own problem.” He smiled. “Considering what you told me, I’d like to hear that one’s been solved myself!”
McAllen grinned briefly. “I can imagine. Very well. Ah . . . when can you let me have the money, Mr. Chard?”

The sun was setting beyond the little lake as Barney drew the shades over the cabin window again. Dr. McAllen was half inside the built-in closet at the moment, fitting a pair of toggle switches to the concealed return device in there.
“Here we go,” he said suddenly.
Three feet from the wall of the room the shadowy suggestion of another wall, and of an open door, ­became visible.
Barney said dubiously, “We came out of that?”
McAllen looked at him, sad, “The appearance is different on the exit side. But the Tube’s open now—Here, I’ll show you.”
He went up to the apparition of a door, abruptly seemed to melt into it. Barney held his breath, and followed. Again there was no sensory reaction to passing through the Tube. As his foot came down on something solid in the shadowiness into which he stepped, the living room in Sweetwater