the ground for some sign of subsidence. But the going was level and perfectly free of obstruction; and very soon we had arrived at the circle of luminosity.
At the moment of our entering therein, with a violent commotion of wings beating and voices shrilling, a colony of bats erupted into life, milling furiously over our heads and swooping down so closely as to fan our faces. Hermione shrieked and fell on her knees, arms raised to protect her head, in case one of these fleeting creatures should become entangled in her flowing tresses. They were not, it should be pointed out, the little flittermice that are almost indistinguishable from swiftlets as they flutter in the fading light of day. These were monstrous fruit-bats, or flying foxes as they are sometimes called, and I care not to think what would have happened had one been caught in Hermione’s hair. But after a minute or two the flock had dispersed, either shooting through the tunnel behind us, or swirling aloft and exiting through the aperture above.
Looking up with relief at the last of the departing vampires, the light now beamed down into our eyes through a chimney or vertical shaft cut in the rock. This was ten feet square and the width of the cavern, extending upwards a distance of about forty feet, the sides slightly indented here and there, and hung with roots and vines. It provided welcome ventilation as well as light. Rain pattered down through the opening.
Beyond us the passage stretched a distance equal to that traversed, resolving in a further pool of light. Was anyone not in favour of continuing?
“Heavens no!” exclaimed Hermione, now fully recovered from her brush with the bats.
“Lead on Themistocles!” said Hector.
Coming to the half-way mark in the second section of corridor, I noticed the dim outlines of black holes gaping on either side. Evidently we were moving along the main artery of a labyrinth. These secondary tunnels seemed to invite further investigation, but we were ill-equipped to enter where not the least glimmer of light was manifest. I noticed also that the going now was wetter, as we were sloshing through a stream of water ankle-deep. But whether this was the result of normal seepage or increased flow due to the heavy rainfall, was very hard to judge.
As we intruded into the next patch of brightness, there came again the same sensation of scurry and uproar. Once more we cowered under the thrust and flurry of a hundred pairs of membranaceous wings. Gradually the turmoil subsided, and we found ourselves gazing up into a similar, if somewhat deeper, shaft hewn through the rock strata, a steady trickle of water descending to augment the stream flowing underfoot. On the far side of the illumined space, the passage-way became much narrower, whilst the ceiling seemed to retreat: the way must take an unexpected turn, for nothing but an eery darkness was now to be descried.
“I’m not sure if I like the look of this.” The sound of my voice, somehow sepulchral and remote, came as a distinct shock to me. Did I really say that? Surely I could not have been the author of such a statement.
“Come on now chaps!” It was Hector who spoke: that much was unmistakable. “We’ve got this far: we really shouldn’t give up yet, at least not before we’ve seen what happens round the next bend.” He looked closely at Hermione and me in turn, testing our reaction. “I’ll lead the way this time,” he said with an air of emphatic finality. And off he ploughed—the water was up to our knees by now—into the inky blackness.
There was nothing for it but to follow. I took Hermione’s hand in mine, and there was just room enough for the two of us to walk abreast. Apart from the swish of our progress, the silence was oppressive, almost palpable. And as we advanced, I could not help reflecting on the oddity of our situation and the queer fact of its recurrence—soaked and speechless (speak for oneself!) in darkest night—all within the space of rather less than twenty-four hours. Hector was evidently pondering in like manner.
“It looks like history repeats itself,” he remarked with a somewhat contrived chuckle, “only I doubt if we should be able to haul ourselves out of this hole quite so easily; and I’m damned sure we won’t find a splendid dinner awaiting us round the corner.”
What exactly would we find round the next corner, I wondered? And suddenly I was overwhelmed by the thought that I was anything but anxious to know the answer.
“Light!” cried Hector, “let there be light!” We were apparently emerging from an S-shaped curve in the tunnel. And there was light! Indeed there was light! And, by God, it was good!
Passing under a lofty archway, we stepped into a large rectangular chamber, centrally lit from a vertical shaft in the roof, of similar construction to the other formations we had seen, only narrower and deeper. The beam of light struck the surface of an oblong slab of stone, projecting above the water which covered all the floor to a depth of several inches. Let into the walls on either side were niches, framing statues of the elephant-headed Ganesh, God of wisdom and foresight. One was reminded of that famous touristic attraction, the Elephant Cave at Bedaulu, except that the dimensions of the room in which we stood and its statuary were far more impressive. In the rear wall facing us were excavated coves, three in number, ranged evenly, in each a rock-cut tjandi or representation of a cremational tower. Clearly this was the burial chamber of some great personage, whether spiritual leader or warrior king.
We had made an astonishing discovery. In the current century, a fair number of ancient monuments and other relics of antiquity had come to light, and were properly documented by the archaeologists of the day. But, to my certain knowledge, no account of this place existed: it was completely unknown.
Inscribed on the upraised platform before us, which was presumably the tombstone and formed the focal point within the mausoleum, were hierographs of Sanskrit or kawi, the ancient poetic tongue. Drawing near to examine these, a still more startling discovery was made.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hector, beside himself with excitement; as indeed were we all. “Just look at this, will you!” He was pointing to the lower end of the level block, which remained in shadow, outside the area of directly transmitted light. Something glowed dully in the dimness. And then I became aware of, or rather keenly conscious of, the smell. It was subtly pervasive and aromatic, contrasting with the damp, mephitic odour one normally associates with guano and subterranean lairs, and I had sensed it at the moment of our entrance. The atmosphere was charged with the sweet, pungent scent of sandalwood. Now I could see the fragile plume of smoke drifting upward from the burning incense stick, supported on its little plaited tray of palm and bed of starry flowers.
Someone had been here before us, in the very recent past. Someone, unknown and invisible to us, had come to render an oblation in reverence to the spirit of this place. All at once, I felt the surge of an indefinable force within me and I seemed about to succumb to the infinite genius that was here, the alarums in my ears reinvested and resounding more madly than ever.
“Are you all right?” Hermione was holding me against her, arms encircling my chest. I could barely hear her, although her lips were brushing my lobes, and I scarcely sensed the warmth of her breath on my neck. I think I must have tottered momentarily, almost swooned in fact. All else was blotted out by this infernal belling in my brain.
“Come and sit here.” Gently lowering me to the podium, she sat beside me. And despite my extrasensory state, I know I felt that we were committing a great sacrilege. I made to move and stand upright. But it was too late.
The ringing became a roaring, unendurable if not enduring.
Ever louder and nearer it came, and the walls began to shake.
“Earthquake!” I heard myself scream. And so in truth it seemed, for the vibration was real, but the effect belied the cause. Before I could haul myself erect, with a tumultuous reeking rush, the opening to the passage appeared to explode,
