I entered. The large bed⁠—untouched. A mirror⁠ ⁠… another mirror in the door of the cupboard, and in the keyhole an ancient key upon an ancient ring. No one was there. I called softly: “ I-330 , are you here?”⁠—and then in a still lower voice with closed eyes, holding my breath⁠—in a voice as though I were kneeling before her, “ I- , dear.” Silence. Only the water was dripping fast into the white basin of the washstand. I cannot now explain why, but I disliked that sound. I turned the faucet hard and went out. She was not there, so much was clear. She must be in another “apartment.”

I ran down a wide, sombre stairway, pulled one door, another, a third⁠—locked. Every room was locked save that of “our” apartment. And she was not there. I went back again to the same apartment without knowing why. I walked slowly, with difficulty; my shoe-soles suddenly became as heavy as cast-iron. I remember distinctly my thought, “It is a mistake that the force of gravity is a constant; consequently all my formulae.⁠ ⁠…”