Every rung seemed to strain my muscles to the breaking point; but we kept
on climbing, and we were gaining on the ladder. We were not ten feet from
the top when Hawkins called out:

"Wait, Griggs! Hey! Wait a minute! Yes, by Jove, she's stopped!"

She had. I noted that, far above, the windmill had ceased to revolve. The
ladder was motionless.

"Oh, I knew we'd get out all right," remarked the inventor, dashing all
perspiration from his brow. "I felt it."

"Yes, I noticed that you were entirely confident a minute or two ago," I
observed.

"Well, go on now and climb out," said Hawkins, waving an answer to the
observation. "Go ahead, Griggs."

I was too thankful for our near deliverance to spend my breath on
vituperation. I reached toward the rung above me and prepared to pull
myself back to earth.

And then a strange thing happened. The rung shot upward. I shot after it.
One instant I was in the twilight of the well; the next instant I was
blinded by the sun.

Too late I realized that I had ascended above the mouth, and was
journeying rapidly toward the top of the tower. It had all happened with
that sickening, surprising suddenness that characterizes Hawkins'
inventions.