There came, then, a ponderous, soft thudding, growing nearer. It wasn't till the impression of the sound clicked into a groove in his mind, establishing itself as identical with the regular thud-thud of great, running, elastic-shod feet, entirely inhuman in their note, that he concluded that discretion was the better part of valor. He had farther to return than he realized. And his electric and telephone cords, his hoist cable, hampered him. "Draw in the slack of my rig," he shouted into his phone. "And for Pete's sake, if you love me, set the hoist winch going when I tell you!" He got beneath the bore that penetrated the tunnel roof okay. But the thudding was catching up on him fast. "Up!" he yelled. "Quick!" It seemed a century before he felt the reassuring tug of the cable under his arms. He had a chance to look back once into the Stygian darkness that concealed a reawakening and incredible ancientness. There a little red light wavered and hurtled nearer. Perry's feet left the metal pavement. He heard a hiss, like escaping steam, just as he was drawn up into the narrow bore. Something clanked and scraped beneath him, like claws raking at his retreat. And the hissing continued. He thought he could relax then, a little. But as he was pulled farther up the bore he felt heat burning through his rubberized silk coverall. It was just a harmless warmth at first, but it increased to a burning sensation about his legs. It made him dizzy and sick, and clouded his brain. He heard Rod Murgatroyd yelling at him through the phone: "What's the matter, Perry? What's up?" And behind the voice of his friend there was the murmur of many other voices. The sightseers from Brenton. They didn't have any business being there; but if anything happened--if they got hurt--it was his and Rod's fault. Even though Kerwin, or someone under Kerwin's orders, had tipped them off for mere malice. "Back!" Perry yelled. "Order everybody back! When you pull me up, Rod, don't touch me without gloves! And breathe cautiously. Gas, I think. Some kind of corrosive gas...." * * * * * The rest, for a while, was like a bad dream to Wilcox. He became aware of stars overhead, and of wind. He was up in the open air once more. Nearby, Herkett, one of the drill crew, was swearing at the inquisitive onlookers, trying to send them on their way. Some were retreating. Others, held by a kind of fascination, still crowded forward against the fence, and met Herkett's blasphemous pleas with boos, or ignored them with a kind of self-conscious indifference.