Then, after a moment's thought, he said:
"There was an exit here--once. Observe, here was an opening, yet now there is none. Yet, 'tis easy to comprehend. Look at what that light streams over as it enters--heaps of earth with broken trunks of trees mixed in them, also great stones. You see--understand?"
"A landslip from above, perhaps?" Debrasques answered, comprehending.
"Ay, 'tis that. Washed down, loosened by winter storm or spring torrent--riven perhaps by lightning stroke--may be a month ago, may be years. Who knows? But, of one thing be sure--he," and he glanced down to his feet, "knew it not when he fled here. May not have visited these vaults for years--may never have been here before, yet was aware of this escape and thought to profit by it. Then died of frenzy--perhaps starvation, too--after learning he was snared."
He advanced towards the immense mass of earth that blocked up the hole through which the flight should have been made, and flashed his lantern on it at about a man's--at about De Bois-Vallée's--height from the ground, and called the other's attention to how the mould was scored--as though with finger clutches! and scooped away and dug into. Scratched at and scooped away until the trapped creature had given up in despair; had, perhaps, fallen fainting at his task.
Next, he went back to where the body lay, and lifted up the hands, the rings on them sparkling in the lantern's gleam, and showed Debrasques the nails all earthy, and the top joints of the fingers clogged and smeared with dirt.
"You see?" he whispered. "You see?"
"Yet, why not return?"
"You forget. The chain was broken. The way back was barred, therefore. He had no rope as we have."
* * * * * *