But Byfield does it--Byfield in his Monster Foolardi. One stroke of this knife (always supposing I miss my own hand), and the rope is severed: our common friend scales the empyrean. But he'll come back--oh, never doubt he'll come back!--and begin the dam business over again. Tha's the law 'gravity 'cording to Byfield." Mr. Dalmahoy concluded inconsequently with a vocal imitation of a post-horn; and, looking up, I saw the head and shoulders of Byfield projected over the rim of the car. He drew the natural inference from my dress and demeanour, and groaned aloud. "O, go away--get out of it, Ducie! Isn't one natural born ass enough for me to deal with? You fellows are guying the whole show!" "Byfield!" I called up eagerly, "I'm not drunk. Reach me down the ladder, quick! A hundred guineas if you'll take me with you!" I saw over the crowd, not ten deep behind me, the red head of the man in grey. "That proves it," said Byfield. "Go away; or at least keep quiet. I'm going to make a speech." He cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen----" I held up my packet of notes, "Here's the money--for pity's sake, man! There are bailiffs after me, in the crowd!" "--the spectacle which you have honoured with your enlightened patronage--I tell you I can't." He cast a glance behind him into the car--"with your enlightened patronage, needs but few words of introduction or commendation." "Hear, hear!" from Dalmahoy. "Your attendance proves the sincerity of your interest----" I spread out the notes under his eyes. He blinked, but resolutely lifted his voice. "The spectacle of a solitary voyager----" "Two hundred!" I called up. "The spectacle of two hundred solitary voyagers--cradled in the brain of a Montgolfier and a Charles--O, stop it! I'm no public speaker! How the deuce----?" There was a lurch and a heave in the crowd. "Pitch oot the drunken loon!" cried a voice. The next moment I heard my cousin bawling for a clear passage. With the tail of my eye I caught a glimpse of his plethoric perspiring face as he came charging past the barrels of the hydrogen-apparatus; and, with that, Byfield had shaken down a rope-ladder and fixed it, and I was scrambling up like a cat. "Cut the ropes!" "Stop him!" my cousin bawled. "Stop the balloon! It's Champdivers, the murderer!" "Cut the ropes!" vociferated Byfield; and to my infinite relief I saw that Dalmahoy was doing his best. A hand clutched at my heel. I let out viciously, amid a roar of the crowd; felt the kick reach and rattle home on somebody's teeth; and, as the crowd made a rush and the balloon swayed and shot upwards, heaved myself over the rim into the car.