Drawing a deep breath he hoisted up his body, using his biceps as levers. . . . His biceps swelled and knotted and snapped. . . . His body rose smartly and without apparent effort. In an amazing way he swung around his legs from the hips and landed his body gently on the ledge, resting on the right side of his chest and stomach. The stone ledge was no more than six inches wide. More than half his body rested on the empty air, as it lay along the ledge. But he was as cool as if he were standing loosely on the broad, firm earth. He was acting on the plan he and McPhillip had rehearsed. His body performed the movements without his mind exercising any control, either of guidance or of warning, warning against danger that is called fear. After a slight pause, he leaned his weight on his hands and rolled his body around in a reckless movement. His legs shot into the air about two feet. He stood poised on his hands for two seconds, as if he were going to stand on his head. Then he lowered his right leg. He brought it up to his hands. Slowly, with snapping gasps, he balanced himself on the right leg and stood up straight. He stood straight in the solid darkness for a moment. He breathed twice rapidly. Then he groped upwards for the roof. He found it about three inches above his head. He pawed the stones hurriedly, searching. He couldn’t find what he wanted. It should be there. Mother of Mercy! He pawed out farther. Nothing yet. Sweat stood out on his forehead, suddenly, as if his body had been wrung. Savage anger gained control of him. He bared his lips and distended his eyes. His last hope gone? Had they taken it away during the last six months? He reached out one inch farther. Too far. With a muffled gasp, he hurtled forward from the ledge. His hands scraped along the roof with a rasping sound. Then, just as they fell in pursuit of the falling body, the fingers of the right hand closed on an iron ring. They closed on it like a vice. The shoulder muscles snapped. Gypo swung across the floor, brought up with a grunt, jerked and swung back again, suspended from the iron ring by his right hand. When he steadied himself, he changed hands on the ring and groped about with his right hand, until he found a hole in the roof about three inches away from the ring. That was the hole of the trap-door, through which the wine had been let down into the cellar from the garden. He gripped the ring with both hands and swung up with his legs, until they found the far side of the hole. He jammed both feet against the side of the hole and rested for four seconds, breathing deeply. His knees were bent upwards.