It was not an unusual thing for the inhabitants of the château to climb to the mouth of the cavern. The men had penetrated its depths for several hundred yards, lighting their way by means of electric torches, but no one among them had undertaken the needless task of exploring it to the end. This much they knew: the cavern stretched to endless distances, wide in spots, narrow in others, treacherous yet attractive in its ugly, grave-like solitudes.
"God, Chase, they are lost in there!" groaned Deppingham, numb with apprehension. He was trembling like a leaf.
"There's just one thing to do," said Chase, "we've got to explore that cavern to the end. They may have lost their bearings and strayed off into one of the lateral passages."
"I—I can't bear the thought of her wandering about in that horrible place," Deppingham cried as he started resolutely toward the ladders.
"She'll come out of it all right," said Chase, a sudden compassion in his eyes.
Drusilla Browne was standing near by, cold and silent with dread, a set expression in her eyes. Her lips moved slowly and Deppingham heard the bitter words:
"You will find them, Lord Deppingham. You will find them!"
He stopped and passed his hand over his eyes. Then, without a word, he snatched a rifle from the hands of one of the patrol, and led the way up the ladder. As he paused at the top to await the approach of his companions, Chase turned to the white-faced Princess and said, between his teeth:
"If Skaggs and Wyckholme had been in the employ of the devil himself they could not have foreseen the result of their infernal plotting. I am afraid—mortally afraid!"
"Take care of him, Hollingsworth," she whispered shuddering.