angling a rope twelve feet above his head,
inviting him to climb out. To find himself still in the softly lit
cabin was--for a few seconds, at any rate--a relief.

The relief faded as he sat up and looked at his watch. Still over an
hour to go before McAllen's idiotic door became "apparent." Barney
swore and headed for the bathroom to freshen up.

There was an electric shaver there, the end of its cord vanishing into
the wall. Barney used it as meticulously as if he were embarking on a
day of normal activities, prepared a breakfast in the kitchen and took
it to the main room. He ate unhurriedly, absorbed in his thoughts, now
and then glancing about the room. After a few minutes he uneasily
pushed back the plate and stood up. If McAllen's twenty-four hours
began with the moment the big clock in the room had been started, the
door should be in evidence by now.

Another tour of the place revealed nothing and left him nervous enough
to start biting his nails. He moved about the room, looking over
things he'd already investigated. A music cabinet--he'd thought it was
a radio at first, but it was only an elaborate hi-fi record player;
two enclosed racks of records went with it--mainly classical stuff
apparently. And a narrow built-in closet with three polished fishing
rods and related gear, which would have allowed for speculation on the
nature of the cabin's surroundings, except that McAllen might feel
compelled to have a sampling of his toys around him wherever he was.
Barney closed the closet door morosely, stood regarding the two
crowded bookcases next to it. Plenty of books--reflecting the McAllen
taste again. Technical tomes. Great Literature. Dickens, Melville, the
Life of Gandhi.

Barney grunted, and was turning away when another title caught his
eye. He glanced back at it, hauled out the book:

"Fresh Water Game Fish; Tested Methods of Their Pursuit." The author:
O. B. McAllen.

[Illustration]

Barney was opening the book when the cabin's door also opened.

* * * * *

Bright light--daylight--filled the room with so sudden a gush that
Barney's breath caught in his throat. The book seemed to leap out of
his hands. With the same glance he saw then the low, wide picture
window which abruptly had appeared in the opposite wall, occupying
almost half its space--and, in the other wall on the far left, a big
door which was still swinging slowly open into the room. Daylight
poured in