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looked at his wife and then at Dodgson, who was waiting for a reply. Charles had drawn him into a trap, but he still wasn’t prepared to surrender.
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t pronounce the words you wish to hear, Charles,” he replied with as much grace as he could muster. “My failure is only a temporary setback. My virus may not have worked, but I remain completely convinced we are on the right track. And that you could never succeed in creating a magic hole even if you had all the funding from the Budgetary Commission.”
    Charles looked at him calmly for a few seconds, but then a smile gradually appeared on his lips.
    â€œIs that really what you think? I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Wells asked uneasily.
    â€œMuch as I adore your company,” Charles said, looking at the couple with affection, “it isn’t my only reason for inviting you here. There’s something I want to show you. Something you say is impossible to create.”
    Wells stared at him, bewildered. Charles gestured to the automaton.
    â€œWould you mind drawing back the curtain please, Robert Louis?”
    The automaton walked over to the curtain, on its feet this time, took hold of one end, and, moving in reverse, began to draw it back, revealing what was behind. Wells leapt from his chair as if someone had just screamed “Fire!” and Jane’s cup clattered into its saucer. Even Newton stiffened on the rug. It took a few seconds for them to understand what they were seeing, for it wasn’t something that was easy to grasp. Somebody had sketched a hole on the fabric of reality, an orifice measuring roughly two yards in diameter, which appeared to be gyrating slowly. Around it was a ring of shimmering, grainy mist, slightly ragged at the edges, while the center was an absolute black, a frozen blackness like the one threatening the existence of the universe. Right next to the hole, reality seemed to bend as though wanting to pour through it. The hole was hovering about eighteen inches from the floor, above a metal stand bristling with levers and valves, and was surrounded by various complex constructions that seemed to be holding it in place.
    â€œWhat the devil is this?” Wells spluttered.
    â€œIt’s a magic hole, George,” replied Charles.
    Wells edged his way toward the phenomenon, closely followed by Jane, while Charles watched them from his chair with a satisfied grin. Wells let the purr of the machines calm his stupefaction and, keeping a safe distance behind the invisible boundary of the curtain, studied this rent in the air. The edges appeared to be made of gas, and because the hole curved slightly inward, it gave an impression of depth, although no sound came from within and all that could be seen was a dense, smooth blackness.
    â€œYou’ve done it . . .” Wells was incredulous.
    Charles stood up and went over to join them.
    â€œThat’s right, my friend: I’ve done it.”
    â€œBut how? Where did you get the money to pay for all this?” Wells pointed to the machinery shielding the hole. “There’s at least seven hundred thousand pounds’ worth of equipment here.”
    â€œEight hundred thousand, to be precise,” the professor corrected him.
    â€œBut that’s more than the entire Budgetary Commission grant!” Wells exclaimed, with mounting astonishment. “Unless you’ve inherited money from a string of rich uncles, I don’t understand how you laid your hands on that amount . . .”
    â€œMy dear George, just because the Church has no faith in my project, it doesn’t mean nobody does. A lot of people thought I was right—which is more than I can say for my friend and ex-pupil Herbert George Wells. And one of them happened to be wealthy enough to fund my research,” Charles added enigmatically.
    â€œWho the devil might that be?”