We were all standing at the two-foot rail of the runway. The car-basket, floating now, was off side and level with us. My chance!
"In with him, Gutierrez."
I shoved the body, encased in its black sack, with Hans helping me. And suddenly De Boer's knife came down at the sack! A stab. But an instinct to save the poor wretch within swept me. I struck at De Boer's arm and deflected the blow. The sack tumbled into the car.
I had neglected whatever chance had existed. Too late now!
"What in the hell!"
De Boer's shape seized me.
"What—"
It sent me into a sudden confusion. I flung him off. I stumbled against the shape of Hans.
The car was almost loose; drifting away.
Without thought—a frantic impulse—I pushed Hans over the brink. He fell into the car. It swayed into an oscillation with the impact. The balloon sank below our wing level and was gone, with only Hans, muffled shouts floating up.