“It’ll do for a well, sir,” said Briggs; “and I wouldn’t mind getting down it at the end of a rope. I’ve done it before now, when a well’s been rather doubtful, and we’ve had to burn flares down it to start the foul air. That hole’s as clear as can be.”
“How do you know?” said Denham.
“By the way that match burned till it reached the water, sir. If the air down there had been foul it would have been put out before it reached the surface.”
“But there will be no need for you to go down, sergeant,” I said. “We can reach the water with a few tether ropes.”
“To get the water—yes, my lad,” said the sergeant, with a queer screwing up of his face; “but I was thinking about the gold.”
“Oh, we’ve no time to think of gold,” said Denham shortly. “But I say, Val, isn’t this all a mistake? Who could have built such a place and worked for gold—making a mine like this?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “unless it was the ancient traders who used to go to Cornwall in their ships to get tin.”
“What! the Phoenicians?” said Denham.
“Yes,” I said. “They were big builders too. They built Tyre and Sidon.”
“Val,” cried my companion, slapping me on the shoulder, “you’ve hit it right on the head. They were the builders. We know they went to Scilly and Cornwall for tin. They must have come here for gold.”