“That will be a hard path to follow,” said Raoul finally. “I tried it—once.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing—a dead wall.”
“Mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Quayle, not catching his meaning.
“There was no danger that I could see,” continued Raoul; “but there was hard traveling, and no result worth the effort.”
“Did you notice these footprints when you were here before?”
“It was the footprints that led me on.”
“I don’t see your footprints here. All these marks are from sandaled feet,” retorted Leighton.
The discovery did not attract attention. It seemed of slight significance to the others; but the savant continued his examination of the ground with redoubled interest. Raoul also showed astonishment at the fact pointed out to him, and at first offered no explanation. Obviously, a footprint in a cave, not subject to effacement by wind or weather, should remain indefinitely, unless destroyed by man or animal. But, curiously enough, the sandal prints were not sufficiently numerous to stamp out all vestige of the prints that must have been made by Raoul in his coming and going through the tunnel—if Raoul had really ever been in this tunnel. So Leighton argued, and the conclusion that Raoul had not been there at all seemed logical. Had he deliberately deceived them—a supposition for which there appeared no motive—or was he himself mistaken in the course he had pursued in his exploration some years ago?
“Well, there it is,” laughed Raoul. “Your reasoning is sound. My footprints ought to be here, but they aren’t. I can’t explain it.”