“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 on the first little temblor.”
“But look around you, man!” Teal protested. “Nothing has been disturbed, not a piece of glassware cracked. Rotations 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.
“Hm-m-m,” he said, “this is very interesting—very.”
“What is it?” asked Bailey, joining him.
“This.” The window stared directly into the dining room, instead of looking outdoors. Bailey stepped back to the corner where the lounge and the dining room joined the central room at ninety degrees.
“But that can’t be,” he protested, “that window is maybe fifteen, twenty feet from the dining room.”
“Not in a tesseract,” corrected Teal. “Watch.” He opened the window and stepped through, talking back over his shoulder as he did so.
From the point of view of the Baileys he simply disappeared.
But not from his own viewpoint. It took him some seconds to catch his breath. Then he cautiously disentangled himself from the rosebush to which he had become almost irrevocably wedded, making a mental note the while never again to order landscaping which involved plants with thorns, and looked around him.
He was outside the house. The massive bulk of the ground floor room thrust up beside him. Apparently he had fallen off the roof.
He dashed around the corner of the house, flung open the front door and hurried up the stairs. “Homer!” he called out, “Mrs. Bailey! I’ve found a way out!”
Bailey looked annoyed rather than pleased to see him. “What happened to you?”
“I fell out. I’ve been outside the house. You can do it just as easily—just step through those French windows. Mind the rosebush, though—we may have to build another stairway.”
“How did you get back in?”
“Through the front door.”
“Then we shall leave the same way. Come, my dear.” Bailey set his hat firmly on his head and marched down the stairs, his wife on his arm.
Teal met them in the lounge. “I could have told you that wouldn’t work,” he announced. “Now here’s what we have to do: As I see it, in a four-dimensional figure a three-dimensional man has two choices every time he crosses a line of juncture, like a wall or a threshold. Ordinarily he will make a ninety-degree turn through the fourth dimension, only he doesn’t feel it with his three dimensions. Look.” He stepped through the very window that he had fallen out of a moment before. Stepped through and arrived in the dining room, where he stood, still talking.
“I watched where I was going and arrived where I intended to.” He stepped back into the lounge. “The time before I didn’t watch and I moved on through normal space and fell out of the house. It must be a matter of subconscious orientation.”
“I’d hate to depend on subconscious orientation when I step out for the morning paper.”
“You won’t have to; it’ll become automatic. Now to get out of the house this time—Mrs. Bailey, if you will stand here with your back to the window, and jump backward, I’m pretty sure you will land in the garden.”
Mrs. Bailey’s face expressed her opinion of Teal and his ideas. “Homer Bailey,” she said shrilly, “are you going to stand there and let him suggest such—”
“But Mrs. Bailey,” Teal attempted to explain, “we can tie a rope on you and lower you down eas—”
“Forget it, Teal,” Bailey cut him off brusquely. “We’ll have to find a better way than that. Neither Mrs. Bailey nor I are fitted for jumping.”
Teal was temporarily nonplussed; there ensued a short silence. Bailey broke it with, “Did you hear that, Teal?”
“Hear what?”
“Someone talking off in the distance. D’you s’pose there could be someone else in the house, playing tricks on us, maybe?”
“Oh, not a chance. I’ve got the only key.”
“But I’m sure of it,” Mrs. Bailey confirmed. “I’ve heard them ever since we came in. Voices. Homer, I can’t stand much more of this. Do something.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Bailey,” Teal soothed, “don’t get upset. There can’t be anyone else in the house, but I’ll explore and make sure. Homer, you stay here with Mrs. Bailey and keep an eye on the rooms on this floor.” He passed from the lounge into the ground floor room and from there to the kitchen and on into the bedroom. This led him back to the lounge by a straight-line route, that is to say, by going straight ahead on the entire trip he returned to the place from which he started.
“Nobody around,” he reported. “I opened all of the doors and windows as I went—all except this one.” He stepped to the window opposite the one through which he had recently fallen and thrust back the drapes.
He saw a man with his back toward him, four rooms away. Teal snatched open the French window and dived through it, shouting, “There he goes now! Stop thief!”
The figure evidently heard him; it fled precipitately. Teal pursued, his gangling limbs stirred to unanimous
