As soon as the two had stepped over the sill, the door was slammed shut behind them, and Bob heard the great bolts shot into place—and shuddered in spite of himself. On each side of him were smooth, solid walls of rock: ahead of him stretched a dusky corridor dimly lighted with electric fireflies suspended here and there. The dull rumble of distant machinery came to his ears; the faint smell of smoke and sulphurous fumes greeted him.
“Fitz?” the lad said to his comrade, who stood silent at his side.
The goblin simply gave the speaker a look in reply.
“Fitz,” Bob continued, “what’s the meaning of all this talk about my going through the factories? What’s the matter, anyhow?”
“Nothing—nothing!” Fitz murmured hoarsely, shiftily gazing here and there.
“Yes, there is,” the boy insisted. “Why do you all emphasize the word ‘through’?”
“Why—why,” Fitz stammered, rubbing his nose and blinking his pop eyes, “we thought maybe you didn’t mean that you desired to go through the factories; thought maybe you meant you desired to go partly through only—just wanted to see some of the things.”
“No,” Bob hastily made reply, “I want to go through; I want to see everything. Understand?”
Fitz nodded.