"They said to the left, didn't they?" asked Holman.
"Yes," I answered. I hardly recognized my own voice as I jerked out the word. I couldn't see the faces of the girls, but I understood what skyscrapers of hope they had built upon the announcement I had made when Edith had told of her discovery. Now, as we moved around the hole in the floor, I understood what a tremendous shock it would be to them if we discovered that there was no connection between the falling water and the chant.
"I suppose the left side will be the one upon our left hand when facing the fall?" said Holman.
"I suppose so," I stammered. "Let us move up close to the side of the water."
We edged along till we could touch the flashing stream that dropped from some point high up in the immense roof of the place, and then we started to step the distance, the Professor chattering along behind us, while the two girls brought up the rear.
Holman chanted the numbers aloud, and a cold sweat broke out upon me as he counted. A fear of my own sanity came upon me. I thought that this connection between the song and the luminous water might have been suggested by a brain that had suddenly lost its balance under the torture of the preceding three days.
"Fifty-six! Fifty-seven! Fifty-eight!——"
It was Holman's voice, but to my reeling brain the sound came from the roof and thundered in my ears like a brazen bell.
"Fifty-nine! Sixty!"
We stopped together, and the suppressed sobs of Barbara Herndon were the only sounds that broke the little stillness that followed. There was no way out! The darkness, so it seemed to us, was thicker than ever!