Quickly he led the way, ax and torch in hand, and as they rounded the group of massive buttresses whence sprang the pillars for the groin-vaults aloft, a cry of satisfaction escaped him, followed by a word of quick astonishment.
“What is it, Allan?” exclaimed the girl. “Anything wrong? Or--”
The man stood peering with wide eyes; then suddenly he knelt and began pawing over the little heap of vegetable drift that had accumulated along the wall.
“It's here, all right,” said he. “There's the door, right in front of us--but what I don't understand is--this!”
“What, Allan? Is there anything wrong?”
“Not wrong, perhaps, but devilish peculiar!”
Speaking, he raised his hand to her. The fingers held an arrow-head of flint.
“There's been a battle here, that's sure,” said he. “Look, spear-points--shattered!”
He had already uncovered three obsidian blades. The broken tips proved how forcibly they had been driven against the stone in the long ago.
“What? A--”