He awoke in darkness, trembling with the thought of escape.

His hands groped around the floor, trying its solidity. When his fingertips found a wall, he raised himself with agonizing slowness, his nails scraping along the ridges in the damp stone.

He pressed his hot cheek against the cool surface, and sobbed pitifully.

When his eyes adjusted to the feeble light, he measured the strength of his prison, and felt the added terror of hopelessness. He turned his eyes to the pool of darkness in the center of the dungeon, and ventured forth a cautious foot.

He had taken only three steps before he heard the voice.

"Look out!" it said.

Then he saw the Pit.

He looked with horror at the writhing beasts inside.

He sank to his knees, and stared in terrible fascination at their swaying bodies. Then he buried his face in his hands.

He looked up when he heard the swish! above him.

Gleaming, swinging, evoking a memory in an impossibly distant past—it was a pendulum, of razor-sharp steel.

And it was descending.

He screamed, and lifted his arms above his head. The pendulum ground to a halt, the mechanism groaning and screeching in protest. There was a second of silence, and then the blade fell to earth with the suddenness of an avenging sword. This time, the scream was cut off in his throat, and the giant weapon flattened him sickeningly against the edge of the precipice.

Vaguely, as in a dream, he heard the sound of speech, and running footsteps.

"My God! It broke! The pendulum broke!"

"Somebody get the doctor!"

"Look out for that Pit! It's a forty-foot drop!"

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