It seemed as if hours passed, and twice flash-lights dimmed, leaving the temple room in deeper darkness. One by one the men bent over the watch, checking off the minutes, and finally a group of them went to the great stone door that had made them prisoners. With ears pressed against the enormous block they listened for a sound from the world outside, but drew away when the lack of noise set their nerves on edge. Then one tapped sharply with the butt of his gun, waited an instant, but got no response. They tried this again but without success.
“It’s half an hour,” someone announced hoarsely.
“They’re not coming—they’re not, blast them!” Joe shrieked. He pounded his fists futilely against the immovable stone, and with that bedlam broke loose as the men screamed and hammered everything they could get their hands on against the unperturbed rock. In the melee the last light flickered, leaving them in a writhing, twisting mass of panic-stricken humans. Once or twice Cardow’s voice rose above the din as he endeavored to restore quiet, but it was promptly drowned by the screams of the gang.
“Get further away,” Arto urged. The captives moved cautiously along the wall until at last they were on the opposite side from where the entrance had been. From somewhere a faint light shone before the Sun-God, and Jim decided that it came from the clusters of brilliants set in the wide band. The men continued to fight and scream, but their voices were growing hoarser. Some were crying like infants, and this noise, Jim thought, was the most awful.
“The air,” Pedro said softly.
“I’ll feel for a crack,” Arto suggested. “Hang on to me, Senor Jim.” He dropped to his stomach, and Austin caught his trouser leg, then when Gonzalas moved further, the boy too lay flat, while Pedro clung to him, and Mrs. Gonzalas knelt beside her husband. She was praying quietly.
Across the temple the struggle was growing less furious, as if the men were becoming exhausted from their efforts or over-come by the closeness of their prison. For several minutes Arto wriggled close to the wall, his hands running lightly and swiftly over the space until at last he paused, they heard him take a deep breath, then he raised himself.
“Send her,” he whispered. Pedro moved his wife forward and Arto made her lie on the floor, her face pressed against a tiny opening through which came a very thin streak of air from the outside world.
“I will not take it all,” she declared.
“Stay there, mio,” her husband ordered more firmly than Jim had heard him speak to her before, and she protested no more.