He moved upward, inch by inch, somehow finding fingerholds where the fierce weather had, through the centuries, crumbled the stone; but mainly it was sheer strength, fortified by force of will, which helped him up, for he held on tenaciously, even when his position was precarious, when the slightest weakening would have sent him slipping down. Up and up! Presently, for all he knew, he might have been nearly to the top, or yet not above the height of Terhune's head, for soon he lost count of time and sense of distance. Presently it became an effort to think; his brain reiterated monotonously: "Hold on, hold on." He must hold on; that much he knew; so he held on, step by step, inch by inch. Something wet trickled on his face; he thought it was moisture from the squeezed moss, till it rolled upon his dry lips, and tasted warm and salty to his tongue. He knew then that it was blood from his fingers where the skin was wearing through. Up and up! His muscles were tearing and aching from the strain; his body suffered as if it had been tortured on the rack. He felt that it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the superhuman effort, but he was aware that he must continue, knowing if he fell it would mean death, and though he would have welcomed oblivion, there was work to be done first. More important than the rescue of Imre Kiss was that of his daughter Elizabeth. A man can die but once, and hanging is short and sweet, but the girl--she would die a thousand deaths if once the foul beast Grocz laid hands upon her, and yet remain alive, and live thereafter suffering the tortures of the damned. Up and up! Suddenly he laughed aloud. God! he had nearly gone that time. The blood streamed down his arm, spurted over his clothes, even dripped on Terhune who waited below, pressed close against the wall with outstretched arms just in case he could catch the White Knight should he fall. Terhune heard the laughter and, never dreaming that it was an escape of pent-up relief from his leader, trembled for the White Knight, believing he had heard a Communist somewhere on the battlements. Wenzel wondered at himself. Why had he laughed? For what in Hades was he climbing the wall? Why not drop and go to sleep? Sleep, that was it! He was tired; he could move no more. Perhaps for thirty seconds he remained still, while his brain, dazed by the tremendous strain his body had suffered, whirled and twisted in mental gymnastics. For a brief period he could not collect his thoughts; then out of the fog of uncertainty something in his heart repeated once again: "Up--up." Up and up! Somehow he held on, even when it seemed to him that to continue was impossible, until at last the top. One final clamber and he was on the broad, level wall. Weakly he slithered down and lay stretched out, while he gasped loudly for breath.