"Your eyes are better than mine," she said. "I see nothing."
From somewhere apparently directly above them, but at a distance, sounded a hollow chuckle, weird, uncanny.
Rhonda laid her hand impulsively on Tarzan's arm. "You are right," she whispered. "There is an opening above us—that sound came down through it."
"We must be very careful what we say above a whisper," he cautioned.
The opening in the ceiling, if such it were, appeared to be directly in the corner of the room. Tarzan examined the walls carefully, feeling every square foot of them as high as he could reach; but he found nothing that would give him a handhold. Then he sprang upward with outstretched hand—and felt an edge of an opening in the ceiling.
"It is there," he whispered.
"But what good will it do us? We can't reach it."
"We can try," he said; then he stooped down close to the wall in the corner of the room. "Get on my shoulders," he directed—"stand on them. Support yourself with your hands against the wall."
Rhonda climbed to his broad shoulders. Grasping her legs to steady her, he rose slowly until he stood erect.
"Feel carefully in all directions," he whispered. "Estimate the size of the opening; search for a handhold."