“Certainly.  We passed the first Berlin signalling light nearly three-quarters of an hour ago.  We slowed down after that, of course.”

The priest turned his head suddenly and made a movement with it downwards.  The Cardinal leaned forward again and peered through the open shutter.

“I think they are coming up at last,” he said, drawing his head back.  “Hush!  Listen, Monsignor.”

The priest listened with all his might.  At first he heard nothing except the faint whistle of the wind somewhere in the roof.  Then he heard three or four metallic noises, as if from the depths of a bottomless hit, faint and minute; and then, quite distinctly, three strokes of a bell.

The Cardinal nodded.

“They are starting,” he said.  “They have kept us long enough.”

He slipped along the seat to where his scarlet cincture and cap lay, and began to put these on.

Monsignor sprang across and lifted down the great Roman cloak from its peg.

“You had better get ready yourself,” said the Cardinal.  “They will be here in a moment.”

As the priest slipped on his second shoe, a sound suddenly stopped him dead for an instant.  It was the sound of voices talking somewhere beneath in the fog.  Then he finished, and stood up, just as there slid cautiously upwards, like a whale coming up to breathe, past the window by which the Cardinal was now standing cloaked and hatted, first a shining roof, then a row of little ventilators, and finally a line of windows against which a dozen faces were pressed.  He saw them begin to stir as the scarlet of the Cardinal met their eyes.

“We can sit down again,” said the old man, smiling.  “The rest is a matter for the engineers.”

It seemed strange afterwards to the priest how little real or active terror he felt.  He was conscious of a certain sickly sensation, and of a sourish taste on his lips, as he licked them from time to time; but scarcely more than this, except perhaps of a sudden shivering spasm that shook him once or twice as the fog-laden breeze poured in upon him.

He sat there watching through the windows in a kind of impassivity, as much as he could see of the method by which the racing-boat was attached by long, rigid rods to the steady floating raft that had risen from beneath. (He was even interested to observe that these rigid rods were of telescopic design, and were elongated from their own interiors.  One of them pushed forward once to within a foot of the windows; then the tapering end seemed to fall apart into two hooked ends, singularly like a lean finger and thumb with roughened surfaces.  This, in its turn, rose out of sight, and he heard it slide along the roof overhead, till it caught some projection and there clenched.)

So the process went on, slowly and deliberately.  The driver still remained at his post, answering once or twice questions put to him from some invisible person outside.  The Cardinal still sat, motionless and silent, on the opposite seat.  Then, after perhaps ten minutes’ delay, a sensation of descending became perceptible.