As he did so Howard appeared, a little tray in one hand and his heavy face downcast.  He started, looked up, the door slammed behind him, the tray tilted side-ways, and the steel wedge struck him behind the ear.  He went down like a felled tree, and lay as he fell athwart the floor of the outer room.  The man who had struck him bent hastily, studied his face for a moment, rose, and returned to his work at the door.

“Your poison!” said a voice in Graham’s ear.

Then abruptly they were in darkness.  The innumerable cornice lights had been extinguished.  Graham saw the aperture of the ventilator with ghostly snow whirling above it and dark figures moving hastily.  Three knelt on the vane.  Some dim thing—­a ladder—­was being lowered through the opening, and a hand appeared holding a fitful yellow light.

He had a moment of hesitation.  But the manner of these men, their swift alacrity, their words, marched so completely with his own fears of the Council, with his idea and hope of a rescue, that it lasted not a moment.  And his people awaited him!

“I do not understand,” he said.  “I trust.  Tell me what to do.”

The man with the cut brow gripped Graham’s arm.  “Clamber up the ladder,” he whispered.  “Quick.  They will have heard—­”

Graham felt for the ladder with extended hands, put his foot on the lower rung, and, turning his head, saw over the shoulder of the nearest man, in the yellow flicker of the light, the first-comer astride over Howard and still working at the door.  Graham turned to the ladder again, and was thrust by his conductor and helped up by those above, and then he was standing on something hard and cold and slippery outside the ventilating funnel.

He shivered.  He was aware of a great difference in the temperature.  Half a dozen men stood about him, and light flakes of snow touched hands and face and melted.  For a moment it was dark, then for a flash a ghastly violet white, and then everything was dark again.

He saw he had come out upon the roof of the vast city structure which had replaced the miscellaneous houses, streets and open spaces of Victorian London.  The place upon which he stood was level, with huge serpentine cables lying athwart it in every direction.  The circular wheels of a number of windmills loomed indistinct and gigantic through the darkness and snowfall, and roared with a varying loudness as the fitful wind rose and fell.  Some way off an intermittent white light smote up from below, touched the snow eddies with a transient glitter, and made an evanescent spectre in the night; and here and there, low down, some vaguely outlined wind-driven mechanism flickered with livid sparks.

All this he appreciated in a fragmentary manner as his rescuers stood about him.  Someone threw a thick soft cloak of fur-like texture about him, and fastened it by buckled straps at waist and shoulders.  Things were said briefly, decisively.  Someone thrust him forward.