motioning. Speech was useless in that roaring, pandemonium-filled
room.

She was motioning for him to follow. One of the men circled that
central pit, came beside Rawson and helped him to his feet, steadying
him as they crossed the room. The girl had entered the big metal
shell. Dean saw the glow of her torch shining through the open doorway
and through two other windows of crystal glass.

The big room had grown dimmer. The high ceiling was lost in murky
shadows. All the room was dark save where that light struck upon walls
and floor to make them glow blood-red. The waiting lighted shell
seemed a haven of refuge. To get inside, close the door, lock out some
of this unendurable, battering sound--it was all Rawson asked, all he
could think.

The door closed. He was within the shell, standing on a smooth metal
floor. The others were beside him. Dully he wondered what wild
adventure was ahead.

* * * * *

He had expected--he hardly knew what. But there should have been
machinery of some sort. If this weird balloon thing was actually to
carry them, there must be some mechanism, some propelling power. And
instead he saw nothing but the shining walls of the circular room and
at the exact center, reaching from floor to ceiling, a six-inch metal
post that thickened to a boxlike form on a level with his eyes. There
was a plate on the side of that box, a cover, and clamps that held it
in place, and on an adjoining side two little levers, one near the top
of the box, the other near the bottom.

His one all-inclusive glance showed him bull's-eye windows in the
ceiling. There were more of them in the floor. One curved bar,
circling the room, was mounted on brackets against the wall. They were
telling him by signs that he was to put his hands on it and hang on.
One of the men was beside that central post. He too gripped at a
projecting hand-hold. His other hand was on the lower lever.

Rawson knew his disappointment was unreasonable, but his weary mind
was tired of mysteries. Some understandable bit of machinery would
have been reassuring. And then in his next thought he asked himself
what difference did it make. If this childish balloon thing were
really capable of carrying them somewhere, what of it? It could only
mean more of this hideous inner world that grew more unbearably
fantastic with each new experience.

His life had been saved. True, but for what end? The girl's eyes were
upon him,