"You feel certain that it will land somewhere on earth." Tony Andrews nodded. "There is no pressure gradient worthy of the name across the face of this," he said. "Though there is a very slight motion of air through the ring. That means that the air pressure on either side of this ding busted ring is about the same. Funny, though, it sort of blows both ways." Peter nodded. From either side he poked forefingers in. At the plane of cleavage, both fingers passed forward into--through--one another, giving an appearance very much like poking the forefinger into a pool of mercury. Andrews shuddered. Then he took the little circlet, held the ring sidewise, and dropped the tag from the key ring through it. Through the ring they heard it clang onto the floor. Peter took the ring from Andrews and put it horizontal, close to the floor. He put a finger through it and probed. He said: "Ah!" and put thumb and forefinger through the ring and came up with the tag. "What's down there?" asked Andrews. "Feels like wood." Peter poked a ruler through and measured the distance. About two inches differed between the concrete of Peter's basement floor and the wood surface of the other. "We'll lick that," said Peter. "I've got a tiny miniature camera upstairs. We poke it through and take a picture or two." That was a flat failure, they found. The film came out utterly black. Whether the film was exposed in passing, or whether the "other side" was highly illuminated could not be determined. They could control the light in the cellar so that the partially "gone" camera would not cause exposure of the film. But if the other side were brightly illuminated, there would be an instant where the film was open to the light. They tried for hours, but failed. Eventually, Andrews took his mousetrap home with him and set it up in the kitchen. Again, its take was enormous. * * * * * Senator Treed entered the hardware store along Connecticut Avenue and asked the clerk for a mousetrap. The clerk looked surprised and said, "But you're living in the Wardman Park Hotel, senator." "I know. Reputed to be one of the finest hotels in Washington, too. But, there're mice there." "Hard to believe. Does the management know?" "Not yet," said the senator quietly. "And say nothing, please. You see, Mrs. Treed and I just returned from a vacation in Wisconsin and we had a large number of packing cases delivered to our suite. It is more than possible that we included a few field mice. I'd hate to be held responsible for bringing mice into the Wardman Park." The clerk grinned. "Mice in the Wardman Park. That's a national calamity, isn't it?" Senator Treed scowled. "Young man, this rat plague is a national calamity. You do not realize how bad it really is. An outbreak caused by the war." "Come now, senator. Don't blame everything on the war."