Since Paul had no idea where Mr Wells had been taking them, he couldn’t get a bus or charter a plane and follow them, so there’d be raised eyebrows and pointed questions at the very least when they got back. Also, that was presumably the last he’d ever see of the portable door—unless, of course, it featured as an exhibit at his trial for stealing clients’ property from the strongroom. All in all, a thoroughgoing cock-up. He forced himself to look on the bright side. (Maybe they’d sack him; but he doubted that, somehow. It’d be like getting thrown out of Hell for being antisocial.) Then, intending to go and report to Julie and ask for something to do, he reached for the door handle, and in doing so uncovered his watch, which told him the time was three minutes to two. Hold on, he thought; it might have seemed like he’d been in that horrible bus for eight hours, but he hadn’t. A quick check assured him that the watch was working—second hand busily hoppiting round the dial—but obviously it wasn’t.
What do You think about The Portable Door (1987) (1987)?
