Ten rusted rungs lower– he had counted them – he found himself in a sort of cellar, dimly lit.
His eyes getting used to the shadowy light, Napoleon Solo gasped. It was a huge gray room, almost empty except for some strange boxes. Boxes? By the way, they looked like to be part of the room, merging with it. Above them, hanging from the ceiling, a small ball swung imperceptibly. Actually the whole place was vibrating.
“The sphere is floating, Napoleon. It's floating into the air...”
The blond turned to him with a faint smile.
“Forms of things unknown...”