but it was not, and at the end was a tiny hole of
light which grew steadily larger.

* * * * *

Wilbur found himself on a sagging porch, before a door that leaned on
sprung hinges. His head ached, and raising his hand he ran it along his
scalp until he found a large bump. He rolled his eyes upward as though
to see where he had been hurt. All he saw was a jagged hole in the porch
roof. At his feet was a chunk of plaster.

It took a minute for the realization to filter through that he was
standing on the porch of 136 W. Erie Street. Wilbur recalled walking up
the stairs. After that everything was a blur. He scrutinized the door.
There was no card bearing the name of A. J. Merlin. In fact, there was no
card at all!

"Hey, mister," a boy's voice called. Wilbur turned around and saw a
tattered urchin regarding him gravely. "Ain't nobody lived in that house
for years," the boy said. "It's haunted."

Wilbur shuddered and at the same instant became aware of a peculiar
phenomenon. He seemed to be seeing the boy through only one eye. The
other was strangely blurred. Wilbur pulled out his handkershief and
wiped his right eye. His vision improved but as he moved toward the head
of the stairs he swayed slightly.

"You get hurt or something?" the boy asked as Wilbur came toward him.
Wilbur rubbed his head.

"I'm all right," Wilbur told him. He said it partly to reassure himself.

He looked at his wrist watch and found he had only twenty minutes to get
back to work. That was puzzling. There was a lapse of time. Being a man
of imagination, Wilbur reflected that if he had actually been in the
past he would not have used up any time in the present.

On the other hand, it was more probable that he had been hit on the head
by falling plaster and had incurred a slight lapse of consciousness,
memory, or both. He was inclined to accept that explanation.

At any rate he was going to be late if he didn't hurry, and Pete Bellows
would be mad as a hornet. Wilbur speeded up his pace. Then he slowed
down again. If anyone should be angry it was himself. He had missed his
lunch.

Riding up in the elevator Wilbur checked his watch again and found he
was only five minutes late. In his working life that represented two
lines of doggerel. It didn't seem like much to get excited about. But
Pete Bellows didn't see it that way.

"Mook!" he roared, as Wilbur came through the door. "You're late!"

If he had expec