“Now for it, Onset,” urged the Doctor, lifting the limp limb, assisting to put it on the next step. Professor Cultus nodded and took the weight.
“Now for another step!” urged the Doctor. Onset put his well leg up by his own effort, but when the Doctor helped the other to follow he noticed a change for the better, the paralyzed limb was not quite such a non-active member as before. Onset’s fright and desire to escape were getting their hold on him in spite of himself, his legs asserting and maintaining themselves without his realizing the fact that paralyzed legs should not be able to behave that way.
The critical moment was approaching, the crucial test, the final effort to force Onset to put forth his whole strength spontaneously as for his life. The closed door above made the passage still darker at the top, the smoke from behind made the atmosphere more oppressive each moment. “Only three more steps,” exclaimed the Doctor, “to burst through that door or be suffocated.” Onset heard this. The Doctor pressed his elbow against Professor Cultus to signal he was now ready. The Professor gradually lessened his support, and then quietly let go, slipping behind him to catch the man if he fell.
Nothing of the kind occurred. Onset was so frantically determined to get out that he stood supported on one side only without realizing the fact, both legs commencing to work together. Almost alone he managed to force himself higher. Seizing the auspicious moment the Doctor gave Paul the final signal. Flash! hiss-s-s-s-s! red lights, jumping shadows; cries, more jumps; something yellow—ghastly! “Rush for your life!” Onset and the infernal regions close behind him, at the foot of the steps!
Paul had prolonged the agony by some red-burning powder from one of the ship’s signal lights. Miss Winchester waving a sheet of yellow glass from Paul’s photographic lantern before her portable flames—great effect! Screams certainly diabolical; one could hear the wild laughter amid the cries. At such close quarters none could stand the racket a moment longer. Professor Cultus, in the thick of the fumes, was the first to protest. “Open that door! open I tell you, we’ll be smothered!” which was a fact. Onset in a spasm of despair, “Let me out! Let me out!” Miss Winchester, also spasmodic, “I’m getting roasted—fried!” Adele, “I am roasted!”
Onset never knew the exact moment when the Doctor left him standing alone; all he realized was the bursting open of the door, the flood of electric light—it seemed like daylight—and the Doctor above offering his hand to assist, the hand not quite within reach, an effort necessary to reach it; all depended upon the invalid’s own effort.
Without a thought but to escape, Onset started up those remaining steps as one flying for his life, forgetful of weak legs, paralysis, or any other incumbrance. Actuated by the mental and spiritual impulse towards self-preservation he plunged through the opening out upon the deck. Thoroughly scared by a vivid realization of things as they were, his previous hysteria which had clouded the mind vanished before a more potent impression which cleared his mental atmosphere, vanquished by a forced acceptance of the actual facts—he was not paralyzed.
The Doctor steadied him an instant; only a moment of assistance was necessary, until he realized himself standing without support. Dazed and frightened, choking from the fumes, while those who followed made an uproar of coughs and laughter, the poor fellow could not take in the situation at a glance. No one seemed excited, however, about any explosion; all interest seemed centered in himself, congratulations from everybody, Mrs. Cultus in particular.
“Why, Mr. Onset! I’m delighted to see you looking so well” (social fib; Onset looked like an escaped lunatic), “and able to walk” (conversational stretch), “cured” (perhaps), “and quite like yourself again” (since when?).
Not until Onset heard these highly appropriate congratulations did the whole situation dawn upon him. Yes, he had escaped by his own unaided efforts at the last, and of course it was too ridiculously evident to be denied that he was then and there standing alone. The very thought was paralyzing to the former impression that he could not stand. And behold the power of a new lively idea, affecting matter as well as mind—instead of melancholy Onset and an old scared impression, behold Onset smiling in spite of himself. Everybody thought he was going to make a speech. He did.