“All the same, David was lost there before,” Raoul reminded him. “It is a clew we are bound to follow.”
The question remained, how carry out the proposed exploration? Equipped with miners’ lamps, a number of which, of the best pattern, were still among the stores David and Raoul had brought to Colombia at the beginning of their venture, the worst difficulty—darkness—could easily be overcome. Firearms, a supply of provisions, and oil for the lamps, were other items obviously needed. But the essential thing was, as Doctor Miranda tersely put it, “brains”—a cool-headed leader who would bring them back to the entrance of the tunnel in case of danger. General Herran, with his military training and experience, was the man for this rôle. This hero of unfought battles was thereupon chosen captain of the expedition—not, however, without some modest disclaimers of ability on his part.
“There will be five of us then,” remarked Leighton. “General Herran, Doctor Miranda, Arthur, Parmelee and myself.”
“There will be six,” amended Una.
“Six?”
“I will be one of the party.”
“Preposterous! You might as well make it seven, and include Mrs. Quayle.”
“I wouldn’t think of going,” declared that lady quivering with agitation.
“It is not for the womens,” argued Miranda, in his most conciliatory manner. “There may be troubles, and we want only the mens.”
Una turned on him fiercely.