I can tell whether we're moving or not."

He began sniffing and smelling to discover if possible the odor of
escaped gas. He could not detect the slightest sign of anything of the
kind. This gave him great courage. He knew of course that his senses
were not yet in good order, still he thought he might trust them so far
as to be certain that the gas had not escaped and that consequently all
the other receptacles were uninjured.

At the touch of the match, the gas burst into light and burned with a
steady flame. Ardan immediately bent anxiously over the prostrate bodies
of his friends. They lay on each other like inert masses, M'Nicholl
stretched across Barbican.

Ardan first lifted up the Captain, laid him on the sofa, opened his
clenched hands, rubbed them, and slapped the palms vigorously. Then he
went all over the body carefully, kneading it, rubbing it, and gently
patting it. In such intelligent efforts to restore suspended
circulation, he seemed perfectly at home, and after a few minutes his
patience was rewarded by seeing the Captain's pallid face gradually
recover its natural color, and by feeling his heart gradually beat with
a firm pulsation.

At last M'Nicholl opened his eyes, stared at Ardan for an instant,
pressed his hand, looked around searchingly and anxiously, and at last
whispered in a faint voice:

"How's Barbican?"

"Barbican is all right, Captain," answered Ardan quietly, but still