The schoolmaster spoke with difficulty, hesitating every now and then for the word that would best express what had happened. Having plunged into his story, however, he went bravely on, gaining courage as he recalled his singular experiences, and impressing those who heard him with the sincerity, if not the truth, of the narrative. Of all his auditors Raoul, apparently, followed him with the closest attention. His attitude, indeed, seemed to indicate a belief, on his part, in Andrew’s statements.
“I hesitated about following this unknown man into so strange a place,” continued Andrew; “but his manner was so perfectly courteous and friendly—and then I thought that behind all this mystery there might be something to help us find Mr. Meudon—that I made up my mind to keep with him as long as possible. I crouched down, therefore, as I had seen him do, forced my way through the narrow opening in the rock, and presently, after a little difficulty, found myself in a dark passage that afforded me room to stand upright and move forward. I could dimly perceive my guide walking at some distance in front of me, and I hastened as well as I could to reach him. In this I did not succeed, and so we followed the passage, he leading and I after him, for a hundred yards or more, until we came to an abrupt angle in the wall where the uneven path made a sharp dip downward. Here I stopped, having completely lost sight of my guide, and after waiting a short time I called to him. No answer came that I could hear, and in the darkness that surrounded me I began to grow confused and alarmed. It seemed to me I had been lured into some sort of trap. Repenting of my folly for having ventured so far into such a dismal hole, I determined to get out of it as quickly as possible. This, I thought, would be easily done because, to the best of my knowledge, I had followed along a straight corridor and, if I turned back, I would soon come within sight of the opening that led to the lake. But either I had miscalculated the distance I had walked, or else, in turning to go out I started in the wrong direction. At any rate, I had not gone very far before I found myself in a labyrinth of passages. I perceived this by feeling along the wall. And so—there I was, without any clew to help me in choosing the right passage.
“I scarcely know what I did when I realized that I was hopelessly lost in this pitch black cavern. For one thing, I shouted for help, thinking that possibly Doctor Miranda might hear me. But the echoes from my voice were more terrifying than the silence. The air was stifling; the ground appeared to move beneath my feet; the darkness was like a heavy veil winding closer and closer about me. Then, unable, as it seemed to me, to move or breathe any longer, everything went from me. I sank to the floor unconscious. And that’s all I remember.”
“But—how you say that? You are here, leetle fellow,” blurted Miranda. “You are all right.”
“Yes, I am here,” Andrew assented woefully. “But I don’t know how I got here. When I came to myself again I was lying on the shore of the lake. It was quite dark. My horse had gone——”
“That is right; I take him,” corroborated Miranda, with satisfaction.
“I don’t know how I succeeded in doing it—I suppose it was instinct—but I managed to follow the trail on foot, and after a desperate struggle I reached the village where the people helped me to get back to Bogota.”
Andrew’s story was variously received. No one could doubt his honesty. With such transparent simplicity as his, it would be difficult to suppose him capable of drawing—consciously at least—upon his fancy. Doctor Miranda suggested that he merely dreamed what he afterwards took to be reality. But the others, discrediting this theory, were apparently inclined to accept the story, so far as it went, in spite of its fantastic and well nigh incredible features. Raoul Arthur appeared particularly impressed and proposed immediate action.
“I know the cleft in the rock,” he said. “I have been over a small part of the passage to which it gives entrance. It was there, three years ago, in our attempt to undermine Lake Guatavita, that a charge of dynamite exploded, after which David Meudon disappeared. I had no idea that this passage extended back into the mountain as far as it does, according to Mr. Parmelee’s story. But now—it strikes me, Mr. Leighton, that chance has given us the clew you were seeking last night. If you are still anxious to trace David’s whereabouts, the path lies down the passage entered by Mr. Parmelee and his togaed, sandaled guide.”
“You want to explore it?” demanded Leighton.