“I am absolutely convinced that there is none.”
“Then what do you propose to do?”
“For the present, nothing… wait…”
“We have provisions here which, with the strictest economy, will last us six or eight days,” I remarked casually.
“Exactly. And that is why we cannot afford to go wandering at random in search of imaginary entrances to the stronghold. This entrance is here, above us; we know it, it stands before us, and that is the way we must try to get in.”
“But it seems very hermetically closed.”
“But it will open again,” said Hugh, eagerly. “Listen, Mark. I have reckoned it all out. The poor starving wretch had been cast out say ten or twelve days before we met him, which was two days ago. Ten more days say, during which we can still manage to hold out, making twenty-four days altogether or thereabouts from the time that the copper gate was last opened. Now, assuming that this Elysium has an average of not less than one evil-doer a month, I propose that we wait here until the next unfortunate wretch is hurled out onto the ground where we stand.”
“Even granting,” I objected, “that everything will happen exactly as you imagine—which, by the way, things never do—the gate when it opens will still be a hundred feet above us, and we can neither of us fly.”
“Mark, old chap, reflect a moment. Had our late informant any broken bones?”
“No.”