Almost at once, the Master also got a glimpse of two tiny pin-pricks
of crimson, high in air above the city-mass. Swiftly _Nissr_ drew
over the building. Far, very far down in the chasm of emptiness,
tiny strings of light--infinitesimal luminous beads on invisible
threads--marked Broadway, Fifth Avenue, countless other streets. The
two red winks drew almost underneath.

Down plunged the searchlight, picking _Niss'rosh_ out of the gloom.
Through the floor-glass, the Master could descry it clearly. He
slowed, circled, playing with vacuum-lift, helicopters, engines, as
if they had been keys of a familiar instrument. Presently the liner
hovered, poised, sank, remained a little over 750 feet above the
observatory on the roof-top.

"Cracowicz!" ejaculated the Master, into the phone again, as his deft
fingers made another connection. A foreign voice answered: "Yes, sir!"
alertly.

"Ready in the lower gallery now, with the winch and tackles!" bade the
Master.

Again came: "Yes, sir!" from the man in charge of the three who
already knew perfectly well what was expected of them. As _Nissr_
slowly turned, a trap opened in the bottom of her lower gallery,
almost directly between the two forward vacuum-floats, and down sped a
little landing nacelle or basket at the end of a fine steel cable.

Swiftly the electric winch dropped the nacelle, containing three men.
It slowed, at their command, through the phone that led up the wire.
With hardly a jar, the basket landed on the roof.