The roof of the car disappeared as if by magic, and through the opening shot that huge, round plate of iron, seemingly wafted upon a cloud of dense white vapor. Then the steam obscured all else, and I felt that we were falling.
Yes, for an instant the car seemed to shudder uncertainly—then she dropped!
I can hardly say more of our descent from the fatal thirteenth story. In one second—not more, I am certain—twelve spots of light, representing twelve floors, whizzed past us.
I recall a very definite impression that the Blank Building was making an outrageous trip straight upward from New York; and I wondered how the occupants were going to return and whether they would sue the building people for detention from business.
But just as I was debating this interesting point, earthly concerns seemed to cease.
In the cellar of the Blank Building annex a pile of excelsior and bagging and other refuse packing materials protruded into the shaft where once had been the Hawkins Hydro-Vapor Lift. That fact, I suppose, saved us from eternal smash.
At any rate, I realized after a time that my life had been spared, and sat up on the cement flooring of the cellar.
Hawkins was standing by a steel pillar, smiling blankly. Steam, by the cubic mile, I think, was pouring from the flooring of the Hydro-Vapor Lift and whirling up the shaft.
I struggled to my feet and tried to walk—and succeeded, very much to my own astonishment. Shaken and bruised and half dead from the shock I certainly was, but I could still travel.
I picked up my coat and turned to Hawkins.