“So did I,” he answered. “We must have circled. They never went through THAT unless—unless—” He hesitated.
“Unless what?” I asked sharply.
“Unless it opened and let them through,” he said. “Have you forgotten those great ovals—like cat's eyes that opened in the outer walls?” he added quietly.
I HAD forgotten. I looked again at the wall. Certainly it was smooth, lineless. In one unbroken, shining surface it rose, a facade of polished metal. Within it the deep set points of light were duller even than they had been in the pillars; almost indeed indistinguishable.
“Go on to the left,” I said none too patiently. “And get that absurd notion out of your head.”
“All right.” He flushed. “But you don't think I'm afraid, do you?”
“If what you're thinking were true, you'd have a right to be,” I replied tartly. “And I want to tell you I'D be afraid. Damned afraid.”
For perhaps two hundred paces we skirted the base of the wall. We came abruptly to an opening, an oblong passageway fully fifty foot wide by twice as high. At its entrance the mellow, saffron light was cut off as though by an invisible screen. The tunnel itself was filled with a dim grayish blue luster. For an instant we contemplated it.
“I wouldn't care to be caught in there by any rush,” I hesitated.
“There's not much good in thinking of that now,” said Drake, grimly. “A few chances more or less in a joint of this kind is nothing between friends, Goodwin; take it from me. Come on.”