ropes with the clutch of death. Something cracked, something rapped
smartly against a wall. He heard the pulley of the cradle hum on its
rope. He heard the aeronauts shout. He felt a pair of knees digging into
his back.... He was sweeping headlong through the air, falling through
the air. All his strength was in his hands. He would have screamed but he
had no breath.

He shot into a blinding light that made him grip the tighter. He
recognised the great passage with the running ways, the hanging lights
and interlacing girders. They rushed upward and by him. He had a
momentary impression of a great round mouth yawning to swallow him up.

He was in the dark again, falling, falling, gripping with aching hands,
and behold! a clap of sound, a burst of light, and he was in a brightly
lit hall with a roaring multitude of people beneath his feet. The people!
His people! A proscenium, a stage rushed up towards him, and his cable
swept down to a circular aperture to the right of this. He felt he was
travelling slower, and suddenly very much slower. He distinguished shouts
of "Saved! The Master. He is safe!" The stage rushed up towards him with
rapidly diminishing swiftness. Then--

He heard the man clinging behind him shout as if suddenly terrified, and
this shout was echoed by a shout from below. He felt that he was no
longer gliding along the cable but falling with it. There was a tumult of
yells, screams, and cries. He felt something soft against his extended
hand, and the impact of a broken fall quivering through his arm....

He wanted to be still and the people were lifting him. He believed
afterwards he was carried to the platform and given some drink, but he
was never sure. He did not notice what became of his guide. When his mind