Were they shooting through space like a meteor?
They could not tell.

Had they fallen back and buried themselves deep in the sandy soil of Florida, or, still more likely, hundreds of fathoms deep beneath the waters of the Gulf of Mexico?
They could not form the slightest idea.
Listening evidently could do no good.

The profound silence proved nothing.

The padded walls of the Projectile were too thick to admit any sound whether of wind, water, or human beings.

Barbican, however, was soon struck forcibly by one circumstance.