But chance there was none, now. Before his eyes there seemed to darken, to dazzle, a strange and moving curtain. Through it, piercing it with a supreme effort of the will, he caught dim sight of the dial of the chronometer. Subconsciously he noted that it marked 11.25. How long had they been falling? In vain his wavering intelligence battered at the problem. Now, as in a delirium, he fancied it had been only minutes; then it seemed hours. Like an insane man he laughed--he tried to scream--he raved. And only the stout straps that had held them both prevented him from leaping free of the hurtling machine. "Crack!" A lashing had given way! Part of the left hand plane had broken loose. Drunkenly, whirling head over like an albatross shot in mid-air, the Pauillac plunged. It righted, swerved, shot far ahead, then once again somersaulted. Stern had disjointed, crazy thoughts of air-pressure, condensation and compression, resistance, abstruse formulae. To him it seemed that some gigantic problem in stress-calculation were being hurled at him, to solve--it seemed that, blind, deaf, dumb, some sinister and ghoul-like demon were flailing him until he answered--and that he could not answer! He had a dim realization of straining madly at his straps till the veins started big and swollen in his hammering brows. Then consciousness lapsed. Lapsed, yet came again--and with it pain. An awful pain in the ear-drums, that roared and crackled without cease. Breath! He was fighting for breath! It was a nightmare--a horrible dream of darkness and a mighty booming wind--a dream of stifling vapors and an endless void that sucked them down, down, down, eternally! Delusions came, and mocking visions of safety. Both hands flung out as though to clutch the roaring gale, he fought the intangible. Again he lost all knowledge. And once again--how long after, how could he know?--he came to some partial realization of tortured existence. In one of the mad downward rushes--rushes which ended in a long spiral slant--his staring, bloodshot eyes that sought to pierce the murk, seemed to behold a glimmer, a dull gleam of light. The engineer screamed imprecations, mingled with wild, demoniac laughter. "Another hallucination!" was his thought. "But if it's not--if it's Hell--then welcome, Hell! Welcome even that, for a chance to stop!" A sweep of the Pauillac hid the light from view. Even that faintest ray vanished. But--what? It came again! Much nearer now, and brighter! And--another gleam! Another still! Three of them--and they were real! With a tremendous effort, Stern fixed his fevered eyes upon the lights. Up, up at a tremendous rate they seemed speeding. Blue and ghastly through the dense vapors, spinning in giddy gyrations, as the machine wheeled, catapulted and slid from one long slant to another, their relative positions still remained fixed. And, with a final flicker of intelligence, Stern knew they were no figment of his brain.