The rosy wall dwindled in a flash to a point of light and disappeared! Wrapped in the clinging, impenetrable blackness we were racing, dropping, hurling at a frightful speed--where? And ever that awful humming of the rushing wind and the lightning cleaving of the tangible dark--so, it came to me oddly, must the newly released soul race through the sheer blackness of outer space up to that Throne of Justice, where God sits high above all suns! I felt Marakinoff creep close to me; gripped my nerve and flashed my pocket-light; saw Larry standing, peering, peering ahead, and Huldricksson, one strong arm around his shoulders, bracing him. And then the speed began to slacken. Millions of miles, it seemed, below the sound of the unearthly hurricane I heard Larry's voice, thin and ghostlike, beneath its clamour. "Got it!" shrilled the voice. "Got it! Don't worry!" The wind died down to the roar, passed back into the whistling shriek and diminished to a steady whisper. In the comparative quiet O'Keefe's tones now came in normal volume. "Some little shoot-the-chutes, what?" he shouted. "Say--if they had this at Coney Island or the Crystal Palace! Press all the way in these holes and she goes top-high. Diminish pressure--diminish speed. The curve of this--dashboard--here sends the wind shooting up over our heads--like a windshield. What's behind you?" I flashed the light back. The mechanism on which we were ended in another wall exactly similar to that over which O'Keefe crouched. "Well, we can't fall out, anyway," he laughed. "Wish to hell I knew where the brakes were! Look out!" We dropped dizzily down an abrupt, seemingly endless slope; fell--fell as into an abyss--then shot abruptly out of the blackness into a throbbing green radiance. O'Keefe's fingers must have pressed down upon the controls, for we leaped forward almost with the speed of light. I caught a glimpse of luminous immensities on the verge of which we flew; of depths inconceivable, and flitting through the incredible spaces--gigantic shadows as of the wings of Israfel, which are so wide, say the Arabs, the world can cower under them like a nestling--and then--again the living blackness! "What was that?" This from Larry, with the nearest approach to awe that he had yet shown. "Trolldom!" croaked the voice of Olaf. "Chert!" This from Marakinoff. "What a space!"